Come to Koinonia

A Pastor Learns about Listening

I've had three experiences in the last 24 hours that have re-oriented my spiritual attention to the power of listening. I must write about these experiences because i don't want to forget them. I don't want to forget the dangers of not listening or the possibilities for transformation present when we offer ourselves an ear (or two). I mostly don't want to forget because of the work I do. Pastoral ministry affords me the unique opportunity to listen deeply and while I'd like to think I take up that opportunity whenever its presented, the truth is I'm often way too quick to speech. Part of that is because of the expectations placed on pastors, namely that we have some 'word' to comfort, calm, and/or challenge up our sleeve at all times. We don't. But the expectations are real and people defer to our power all the time, silencing themselves in favor of 'hearing' us. It can be a seductive dynamic, one where the deferred-to-person/pastor becomes enamored with her own voice and thereby forgets to listen first, or listen long enough, or listen deeply enough. God has given me 3 experiences to place into the archives of my heart today and I write to remember the lessons therein.

Experience #1
My friend David Judah Oliver is a spoken word poet from the Inland Empire of Southern California. We met  a long time ago and mostly keep up with one another through facebook. I am a fan of his language and ideas that mostly manifest in artistic form though Judah is prophetic in nature. We are Christians of a different kind, but agree through and through that Jesus' main message was/is about the stuff of social justice. Yesterday when the world was processing the still fresh Arizona atrocity, Judah updated his facebook with this: "They call this an act of terror, but I bet we aren't about to start our war on "White Domestic Terror." Excellent piece of social commentary. Pretty quickly thereafter a white man (who I've never met), a friend of Judah's, began asking questions about why Judah was shining a light on whiteness, in particular. I entered the conversation (if you can call status-update-debating a converation) and talked about the hypocrisy of white-on-white violence not being taken as emblematic of all white people and I lifted up the legacies of white violence in the united states. This guy, Mike, instantly starts being defensive and universalizing how all people suffer from power distortions and tendencies toward violence, accusing Judah and myself of targeting white people unfairly. When Judah answered him from the perspective of a black male living in America, Mike continued to discount Judah's word, even belittling the importance of the conversation by saying "it's been a while since I've had a healthy debate"--as if the stuff of white violence is something to get one's intellectual rocks off about. Talk about distancing and personal avoidance. Brilliantly, one of Judah's friends wrote in and said "this conversation is an example of white terror." Touche.

Now I understand that facebook is an amorphous matrix of soundbyte communication and what's possible, in terms of meaningful dialogue and exchange,  is limited on a social networking site. That aside, just encountering the inability of Mike to set his ideas about the world aside and trust someone else's perception of their OWN experience...well, it was the height of psychological violence to me. Even though I participated and tried to impart a different view of history (from a white perspective, thereby negating a monolithic, eurocentric perspective), I felt like I was witnessing something profoundly sick and twisted. I could barely fall asleep last night it was so disturbing to me. And then this morning I woke up and another white man (this guy also named Mike), had taken issue with Judah's comments by invoking Christ's name, doing the typical white protestant "we are all equal in God's kingdom" dance. Judah of course handled him brilliantly by confronting Mike #2 about the fairy-taleism of peace without justice. But I'm not able to put down my discomfort with white people invoking universal truisms (and even in my savior's name!), as a means of denying the reality of experiences different than their own. Not listening, example #1

Experience #2
I've been thinking about having a baby for a while. I've decided that I'd like to be actively pursuing pregnancy (through artificial insemination) by the time I turn 30. Naturally, I've tried to get prepared for this process by seeking ob/gyn consultation and care here in Michigan. Six months ago I was told (by the ob/gyn recommended by the Kalamazoo Gay and Lesbian Resource Center) that I couldn't be given a referral to a fertility clinic at my personal request because I wasn't married to a man. Explicit meaning: patriarchy, heterosexism and homophobia are alive and at work. Again, my own religion is being invoked in the business of inequality: evangelical theology is under-girding the medical philosophy employed by the Methodist health care system I belong to. But the irony is that the PA I see for my ob/gyn care is a lesbian! I want to give her the benefit of the doubt because she's one of my own and seems to understand the injustice, but honestly even she gives me less than competent care. She walks into the room ready to roll and doesn't listen to why I'm there or what I need. Today I blew up and told her to stop talking over me because I couldn't get a word in. Eventually I started crying and yelling because I wasn't being heard. It was embarrassing and I immediately felt ashamed, though i did eventually get her to put her medical chart down and to give me space to talk. We talked about what was necessary for me to proceed with my pregnancy plan, but before she left the room she had to get her digs in. "You can't come in here swinging." "Don't shit where you live." "I'm one of the good ones here on your side but the people in the hallway wouldn't know that because of how you're yelling." All of these statements were aimed at putting me in my place, enforcing the silent (yet oppressive and deadly) contract we white people seem to have about not upsetting the status quo, about respecting professionals in power no matter what, about not getting too emotional because it lacks self-control. Here she is shaming me about yelling and crying instead of examining her own bed-side manners. Had she done the latter, she might realize that adults generally don't scream and cry when they feel heard. Not listening, example #2

Experience #3
This morning I worked out at the YMCA with my dear friend Karen. Karen is someone I love deeply, a woman with brains, grit, wit and the wisdom of having lived as a woman in leadership for 30+ years. Our relationship contains many elements, but the stuff of mothering/mentoring is quite alive between us. I trust her and rely on her feedback to shape my professional development. But she also doesn't treat me like a child, which has enabled us to foster profound respect and mutuality. Most of the time. Today, I found myself dominating the conversation. I got on a roll about almost every topic she brought up. By the end of our time on the treadmill, I realized I'd taken up about 70% of the talk time. Whack. With ten minutes left and my tail between my legs, I asked her a probing question about something she'd brought up earlier. Of course that probing question led to the most meaningful exchange we'd had all morning. But right now I'm wondering what would have happened earlier if I had left my opinions at the door. I sit here wondering what would have happened if we could have explored that particular topic for 40 minutes instead of 10 minutes. How much connection did I miss because I wanted to pontificate? How much more of Karen could I have learned about if I probed her understandings instead of verbalizing my own? This isn't the first time I've had to pause around this issue. Just two weeks ago one of my good friends brought to attention that when working together she often experiences me as one who doesn't listen.

Just when I get self-righteous at "the world" about not listening, I go and blow my own intentions. No one is immune, I suppose. Yes, I too, am on the path. Not listening, example #3.        

Moral of the story...
Experience #'s 1 & 2 showed me the deep need we have in this culture for profound listening, and not just any listening, but listening by non-target group people that trust the self-articulated experiences of target populations. Experience #3 showed me that no matter how well I think I understand issues of justice and injustice, power and inequality, needs and solutions, I better approach the articulation and implementation of that understanding with humility.

Here's the implication of what I've learned: today I will try to give my whole ear to every person I encounter, including myself.. And hopefully I'll wake up tomorrow willing to do the same. If not, I have these words to remind me.

Lessons and parallelisms: Weight Lifting and White Anti-Racist Activism

--It'll hurt at first. Keep doing it.
--The more you do it, the stronger you'll get. You can get stronger than you ever imagine. At some point, you'll question how you ever lived without it because it brings such satisfaction. Discipline and repetition are key. Don't EVER give up.
--You'll sweat and get messy. Sometimes it'll smell bad and look hideous. Soon, that won't matter because it feels so right and the results are undeniable.
--There's an important place you must find: it's the place between over-exertion (that leads to injury) and laziness (letting yourself off the hook). Once you find that place, stay there. But only stay there until your ability to exert increases. Then step it up.
--You'll get sore. That's right when you're about to make a leap into new dimensions of strength. Pay attention to the pain, but don't let it stop you. When experiencing soreness, call upon your own strength or the strength of God. It helps, seriously.

--If you constantly try to mimic other people's muscle-building regimens and routines, you'll never figure out the approach that works for you. Listen to your body and take some risks! You'll stumble into a specific way of doing things eventually. This process of listening, risking and stumbling is the only way you'll discover a sustainable routine. You and those you love deserve sustainability.

--Your muscles get stronger because tissue/fibers break-down and build back up. Allow both.

--As your muscles get stronger: cardio endurance capacity increases. It takes a while, but when it happens, it's AWESOME. You'll run harder and faster than ever.

--Work out partners will save your life, particularly those who don't have huge muscles yet and keep it real about how hard it is.

--Work out partners who know how to crack the right joke when you're muscling through that last *almost impossible* set are priceless. Have at least three of those on-call.

--When in doubt, consult the professionals who have years of experience working with the equipment and know all those special "insider" tricks.

--Distraction helps sometimes. Other times it gets in the way. Figure out the difference and cultivate healthy distractions.

--You will fall off the routine and feel like shit. Forgive yourself and start again without making a big deal about it. The only good thing about "off-time" is that you realize how necessary and good it is when sticking with the program. 

--Those who are choosing not to engage will despise your strength and look at your effort with suspicion. Invite them to walk with you. They'll see how good it feels to move.

--If you really push yourself in public, people will stare at you, especially if you're working hard enough to make noise. You will feel silly and awkward. Get over it.   

--Music makes everything a little bit easier.
--Literature helps too.
--Drink lots of water. Get as much rest as you need. No one can sustain a good routine without the proper nutrients.
--Core strength (stomach muscles) is/are the hardest to develop. They are the key.

Mel Speaks: Invisibility/Hypervisibility

A brave soul telling truth in an often times cruel world.
All love to my courageous companion Melvin Antoine.

Systems and Suicides

An article for the Battle Creek Enquirer

By: Rev. Emily Joye McGaughy

Flipping through these pages, you’ve probably figured out by now that the topic of this month’s Body, Mind and Spirit section of the Enquirer is depression. Suicide is the ultimate (and final) act of depression. Therefore, when exploring this topic it would be avoidant and down-right unethical not to focus attention on the recent suicides of Asher Brown, Seth Walsh, Billy Lucas, Justin Aaberg and Tyler Clementi.

Anyone paying attention to the media in the last month has heard these names. Anyone paying attention has also heard these suicides talked about in terms of gay identity and bullying (which in these cases seems like a dangerously watered-down term; how about “hate-criming”?). Gay kids have been killing themselves for a long time. This is nothing new. I do not know exactly what shifted in our culture to make the national attention of gay suicides possible, but the visibility of these heart-breaking episodes affords us a critical opportunity—as a culture—to rethink and rework ourselves.

Before going any further, I want to answer an important question I assume some readers might be asking: why is an ordained Christian minister using her space in the spirituality section of the B.C. Enquirer to address these issues? Depression is a spiritual issue. Suicide is a spiritual issue. Premature and unnecessary death of children anywhere is a spiritual issue. Further, there is no institution guiltier of propagating homophobic and gender-based violence in this society than Christianity. Columnist Dan Savage recently said of the gay teen suicides: “The Church has blood on its hands.” He’s right. This is one Christian minister’s attempt to acknowledge, repent from and subvert spiritual abuse being carried out in the name of Jesus. There is nothing, not one single thing, about these suicides that isn’t spiritual.

Continued focus on supposed “isolated incidents” of aggressive teen-age behavior in response to homosexuality might be preventing our society from having a harder conversation, a conversation that implicates all of us. I believe social outrage and horror over issues of non-heterosexuality have little to do with who is having sex with who and everything to do with the fear of having gender roles thrown into question. 

Most human beings have, at least once or twice (if not thousands of times) experienced the limits of gender in ways that have profoundly impacted them. Perhaps you were the girl who could throw a football and immediately got labeled a “tom boy.” Perhaps you were the boy who experienced feelings of sadness about cruelty as a kid and got called a “sissy” as a result. Perhaps you are the person whose daily life, whose very body is neglected every single day because it somehow does not conform to this simplistic boy-girl system. Or on the flip side: maybe you are the high feminine woman, recognizable and envied, yet only acknowledged when you’re playing the part of a beauty queen. Maybe you are the football-playing young man, familiar and popular, yet dismissed time and time again because people assume you lack intelligence or compassion. Even those whose gender presentation matches social norms on the surface can experience deeply harmful expectations internally and externally.

Given that many of us have experienced gender-based oppression at some point, it is surprising that we as a society are so slow to question why things are the way they are. And yet, for many of us questioning gender-based reality is like questioning the air we breathe. We human beings are gender-branded from the get go: “it’s a boy” or “it’s a girl” accompany almost every infant into the world. This branding is of course done in conjunction with the observation of an infant’s genitalia. What’s striking is not that we identify babies based on body parts—although why certain body parts have been recognized as the markers of identity still boggles the mind. What’s striking is the meaning we ascribe to body parts, meaning that is arbitrarily assigned and yet upheld as factual and beyond question.

You know about these meanings, right? They are not just about male/female, but about how we dress, what jobs we ‘should’ do and who we are allowed to love. You know, meanings like women are supposed to be feminine and sexually orient towards men while men are supposed to be masculine and sexually orient towards women. That is what Asher Brown, Seth Walsh, Billy Lucas, Justin Aaberg and Tyler Clementi did not do. They did not uphold the traditional notions of what it means to be a man. And when they did not abide by those unwritten, yet daily enforced rules, they paid the ultimate and final price. (One wonders what is so deeply threatening about men loving each other) They did not pay that price because they were different, but because our framework of what’s natural makes this world unsafe for those who do not conform to or confirm the accuracy of that framework. Therefore, their deaths belong to all of us.

A world without them must confront the facts: either what’s “natural” isn’t or we must go on accepting conditions that drive young people to kill themselves. I for one pray to God that we will forsake the latter. 

Rage Today

No one is born inherently inferior to anyone else.

God is doper than that.  

No one chooses what they are born into:

not poverty not privilege.

Social conditions create
vastly different vulnerabilities

for communities and individuals.

Therefore...

Until justice is actualized

and no one comes into this world

more vulnerable than anyone else

for reasons they did not choose,

I don't want to hear anything

about safety, comfort or security

from those who already have it.

The end.

Cancer's Spiritual Classroom

Cancer’s Spiritual Classroom
*For the Battle Creek Enquirer*
By: Rev. Emily Joye McGaughy


Many of us have heard the popular aphorism “there are no atheists in fox holes.” Driving this catchy phrase is the proposition that facing death will cause anyone to seek God.

It’s not true.

People deal with impending death in diverse ways. Some people do, in fact, become religious, finding comfort in the ability to call upon a benevolent higher power in times of uncertainty. Other people become adamantly opposed to the notion of God, finding their life circumstance unfair and inconsistent with what they have been taught about God’s goodness. Some people assume they’ll figure it out when they cross over and don’t spend much time dwelling on the God-question while they’re still alive on earth. This diversity of experience troubles the water of simplistic spirituality, making it difficult for popular aphorisms or sound-byte answers to be ethically offered unto those who are dying.

Faith can be an incredible sustaining force for those who are facing the finality of their bodies (which is all of us in different time frames!). But not all faiths are created equal. Contemporary research shows that if people think God is the source of their pain and that God intentionally wills their suffering, they are more likely to exhibit symptoms of depression and anxiety. During my clinical training as a hospital chaplain my supervisor always reminded me: “it’s not about religion or no religion, faith or doubt; it’s about how those things impact the person’s life.”

Seven months ago when I moved to Battle Creek to join the pastoral staff at First Congregational Church I met Sue. She was helping me move some furniture into my new place and mentioned that she’d lost her mom to breast cancer twenty years prior and just three years ago she’d gotten her own diagnosis of gall-bladder cancer (at the age of 50). She also informed me she’d be starting another round of chemo therapy soon. “I’m doing really well but I know there will come a time when the other shoe drops.” It was quiet for a long time. Before she left that evening I offered to meet with her regularly for spiritual care. She agreed and we’ve been getting together every other Wednesday for 7 months now to do crafts. Most of the time we sit in silence working on our individual pieces of art. Sometimes we talk about what’s going on at church and at home; other times we talk about politics and current events. You’d be surprised how often we talk about Lady GaGa!

Sue Nielson & Ejoye (July 21st 2010)

My favorite Wednesdays are the ones when Sue talks about what she’s learning in her walk with cancer, how this time in her life has deepened her spirituality. She recently shared a piece of writing with me that says “A lot of people ask me how I can be so strong. The absolute biggest part of it is my faith in God.” Contrary to popular quips, faith in God is not always a crutch. In Sue’s case, it is an incredible motivating force, a force that enables her to face the grueling regimens of chemo therapy with courage, a force that enables her to keep finding joy with her husband and friends, a force that keeps her seeking the most of what each day has to offer. I would do anything to relieve Sue’s suffering. I would. But as a pastor I would also do anything to help cancer-free people learn the lessons that Sue is teaching me every Wednesday. For instance the other day she came into my office and said “There’s something this disease does to you; it makes you live in the moment. You don’t know what your future is going to be so you take advantage of every moment you have.”

Fox holes do different things to different people. Perhaps our focus should be less on belief or religious identity in such times, and more on whether or not people are taking advantage of every precious moment they’ve got left. In fact, that’s something we could all give some more focus. Thanks, Sue.

Frost & Ryberg

Okay, so you know how that Frost poem talks about the road less traveled by making all the difference? With all due respect to one of the finest American poets of all time, I think that poem reflects the 'values' of rugged individualism at the heart of white-male escapist psuedo-spirituality. So I'd like to propose something Other (hee hee, pun). For me, colleagues make all the difference. And I have a new one. His name is Thomas Ryberg. This is his precious mug by the candle light next to yours truly. He makes music and makes sacred the materiality around him, no matter the form. He's been lighting up my life and the folks at Battle Creek this summer. I'm grateful. I'm hopeful for continued collaboration on these winding roads, those we choose and those we don't. May it be so.

Side Light

I have learned to wait

patiently

for the side light,

the one close to the ground,

the one you might miss if you

don't watch your step.

The side light,

not the beam thrust down-from-heaven

--i have yet to experience one of those--

no,

the unassuming gesture of illumination

that pierces on the slant

and originates unexpectedly

from a source that's been there all along,

a source you cannot see, but know, yes know

somehow.

The side light,

on an axis that neither shocks nor mistakes you,

but in a horizontal kind of way

makes a leveling miracle of proportion.

7 months in...my pastoral reflections

Greetings, my people.

I try hard not to make my blog about the stuff of ministry, because Lord knows I have to do enough religious/spiritual writing in my professional capacity. I've wanted to keep my blog a place for personal reflection, a place where it isn't necessary to connect all experiences "back" to the symbols and traditions and narratives and liturgical frames of Christianity. The line between personal and professional reflection isn't drawn hard and fast, but i do think the integrity of content and context is important for every writer to consider, particularly one who plays a public leadership role. I may not always appear to "honor" the line--in fact, I think it's often a prophetic act to blur that line--but you can be sure I'm always keeping an eye on it. Having said all that, I'd like to take this blogging moment as an opportunity to reflect on my 7 months in parish ministry thus far. A couple statements that feel a bit random but altogether true.

--it's all people and relationships. make and break.
--funerals manufacture a tenderness in me that I always find surprising.
--i take this work seriously, more seriously than anything else i've ever done.
--it breaks my heart way too often.
--it stuns me into reverent joy equally as often.
--the mainline church has absolutely no idea what it wants to be about these days, and quite frankly, that makes working inside of it quite frustrating.
--i've never been more convinced that the concept of "scripture" needs deconstruction. people are in psychological and spiritual prisons behind that concept and there's no one to blame more vehemently than spineless clergy who refuse to keep it real about systems of power.
--i love the sanctuary of my church. space and beauty matter, seriously.
--i love building my life around liturgy.
--i love working with Tom Ott.
--flowing from the prior affirmation: i cannot imagine being able to minister outside of a collaborative colleague relationship.
--music is more important than preaching.
--lots of people are terrified of the Holy Spirit, a fear that--in my humble opinion--has its root in body hatred, white supremacy and patriarchy.
--the edge between fakery and sincerity in worship is razor sharp, and the smell of the former makes me want to run from the room.
--my appreciation for self-reflective, flexible persons grows with each passing day, particularly when planning worship.
--gossip is ugly and those who are most corrupt in their personal lives seem to be the ones most prone to talk smack about others. there's a difference between evaluation and destruction; most folks seem to get the difference and I am most afraid of those few who do not.
--the pastor role is increasing my awareness of the value of patience.
--i wish the older generation of womyn in my congregation knew how to connect with me in ways other than commenting on my hair, shoes and outfits.
--paying attention and present moment awareness are the keys to the kingdom.
--sermon writing is like being a mad scientist and experimenting on yourself first.
--the pulpit is the most vulnerable place i've ever stood.
--sometimes i think the work of ministry is about the work of managing anxiety--my own and the anxiety belonging to those around me.
--the church'd be better off with more Jesus and less God, more incarnation, less abstraction. (that's nothing new for me, but this work has confirmed it...theologians you'll know what i mean by this)

Okay, that's enough for now. I'm sure more will come to me and i'll update. Peace!