Addiction & Recovery in the Media

   Something in me needs to "talk back" to all this media mess around Tiger Woods that continues to unfold. I read an article by a white straight man this morning who is promoting 12-step buddhist recovery for Tiger. You can read it here:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/darren-littlejohn/year-of-the-iron-tiger-se_b_477627.html
   Now: I'm all about recovery, but sex and drug and alcohol addiction don't just crop up b/c people feel like ruining their lives. Addiction is a symptom of our economic/social system that is based on material greed. The metanarrative about big bad black masculinity/sexuality and weakling white women conditions people into consumer (material and sexual) roles. When you're in a role, you're easier to control. And when you're in a role, it's easier to locate where you are and who you're with and why you're with them and what you might purchase or get addicted to. If you think addiction doesn't have systemic threads to it, just check out the location of liquor stores in neighborhoods all over the country. Check the concentration of fast food marketing to particular ethnic groups, or the proliferation of cosmetic surgery ads in places where women go looking for something, anything other than themselves for salvation. If you want to know how ridiculously "caught up" our media is with selling these stereo-types, just check out this cover of vanity fair:http://www.vanityfair.com/online/daily/2010/01/annie-leibovitz-comments-on-tiger-woods-cover-photo.html
   Photographer Annie Leibovitz is quoted as saying: “Tiger is an intensely competitive athlete—and quite serious about his sport. I wanted to reveal that in these photos. And to show his incredible focus and dedication.” What a crock. We had never seen images of Tiger like this until the "scandal" broke. While he was playing a predominantly white sport, we were seeing him in polo shirts and khaki pants. Then when he steps outside of his marriage with a bunch of Paris Hilton look alikes (oh yes: white feminity is being framed through this story too), we see him lifting weights, shirt-less, with vertical bars in the background?? Leibovitz is obviously owned.
   So what i'm personally struggling with is the absolutely obvious need we have for recovery in this economic climate--ecologically, socially and spiritually--being talked about in terms of symptom alleviation. If we don't take the greed-based, material-focused, dog-eat-dog spirit out of our currency with one another, those symptoms will continue to pop up no matter how many individuals are admitting their powerlessness. So yeah, meetings and steps and service are important, but where's the discussion on and commitment to systemic, structural shifting??

Loving What Is: Family

I want to write about the people I've been living with for the last month. When I worked at First Congregational Church of Riverside I got to know the Soares family because I taught Hannah's sunday school class and led the youth group Taylor participated in weekly. Sandra, their mom, often helped with youth events and so I got to know her (slightly) during my eight month interim ministry. That was in 2005, before seminary. They've gone through some monumental shifts and challenges as a family in the last five years but they've always kept in touch. During this winter, when I was going through monumental shifts and challenges of my own, Sandra offered me space in her home. So I've been living here, with them, with Hannah, Taylor and Sandra, in Riverside for the last month.

This is the first big chunk of time I've spent with teen-agers in a while. I spent much of my early 20's invovled in youth work, so when I went to Berkeley for graduate school, I intentionally put myself in adult-ministry situations in order to develop those skills. That choice has served me well. I wouldn't trade my time at SafeHouse or the Palo Alto VA for anything. But I must be real: my heart for ministry, my first love in the church were the youth and families at FCCR. And it's been a straight up, big fat blessing to reunite with them before moving to Michigan.

Living with the Soares family came about unexpectedly, graciously. I am grateful. I am also re-evaluating my thoughts/feelings on the trappings of the nuclear family. My relations with Hannah & Taylor in the last month gave a glimpse into the gifts of siblingity. We've had penetrative conversation, conversation about the meaning/s of life, the responsibilities that come with privilege, the struggles of being young in psycho-obsessed-drugged-up So Cal. But we've also just chilled out, chilled out to music, to books or net-surfing in the same room. I find myself desparately sad about leaving this accompaniment on Friday. I never had siblings growing up; it's pretty f-in rad. I'm sumthin crazy about Taylor & Hannah.

On Saturday, Sandra and I sat by the pool watching the sun go down together. I'd just seen the movie "Up in the Air." For some reason I came back home from the movie theater weepy, floundering in my skepticism about relationships and family in my future. I admitted to feeling "hard hearted" about romance and intimacy after the loss of James this year. We continued on in conversation about the risks of pain that come with loving. Sandra is an expert on the topic. I trust her. At one point she looked me dead in the eye and said: I wouldn't trade Taylor and Hannah for a hard heart.

Touche.

Missing Joy(e)x2

All those times
we walked the lake
or the marina
or the city streets at night
and laughed about stupid stuff
going on at work
or cried about painful stuff
making mess in our relationships,

all those times

we grabbed coffee

and grabbed more coffee

or ran for dessert

when we'd hit the perfect coffee quotient,
all those times
we made fun of Berkeley hippies and
made fun of those people who made ridiculous announcements in church and
made fun of people who took their facebook seasonal art projects way too seriously and
made fun of each other for various things
like intensity or clumsiness,
all those times
we exchanged music mixes
or driving responsibilities
or sent each other little pick-me-ups in the mail

we were doing the things that i never thought twice about then
but think about all the time now.

I've been traveling, gone from the places of usual,
transported central from the left.
These skies look the same, yet unleash foreign objects
that can determine the possibilities for an entire day.
This hotel room is the same as almost every hotel room
I've ever slept in, yet what I prepare for in this hotel room
might determine the possibilities for the rest of my life.

"All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on." Henry Ellis

This Wonderful Friend of Mine

“Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think." --Christopher Robin to Pooh

Let Me Be Specific

I gotta thank G-d.

and I gotta let you know exactly what I'm thanking, though I can never communicate exactly what it is that's turned rust to gold.

But I'm going to try because I gotta thank G-d.

There have been moments in the last five months when I didn't think I'd make it out alive, moments where I wept in the darkness of the coldnest night, clinging to some distant hope of any moment less physically painful. This back injury has taken me to the precipice of my faith in life and pushed me over the edge. There have been mornings when I woke up only to hate the idea of moving out of bed because I could feel the futility of motion and the death of the possibilities for the next 24 hours accompanying that restricted motion.
I held the phone to my ear, crying out, wailing, sighing--heard in my worst periods of struggle by faithful companions who would remind me: it's not always going to feel like this. They'd ask questions like: what color is the pain? does it have a message for you? And when I couldn't answer because the agony ripped my voice away, they'd just listen to the wimpering in silent devotion.

And then this morning, after receiving an injection of steriods three days ago, I woke up okay.

DO YOU HEAR ME?

I WOKE UP OKAY. MOBILE, PAINLESS, FREE. Today. Yes I did.

And I gotta thank my beloved. Hear me: I thank G-d.

I thank G-d for the chemicals in that shot. I thank G-d for my spine specialist and all the researchers, medical experts and makers of bio-medical technology that enabled that injection to be administered. I thank G-d for my friend Debra who took me to my appointment on time and let me cry--hard--when it hurt me and I didn't believe it was going to help. I thank G-d for every single person who prayed healing prayers for me. I don't care the words, the tradition or the outcome of those prayers. I'm grateful to G-d for people who give a shit enough to think of someone else's pain and to place their intention into the arms of something greater than themselves in order to be useful for the purposes of love. I thank G-d for my mother who told me she'd take care of me no matter what and payed my first month's insurance bill because I was unemployed. I am thankful to G-d that I even have health insurance. I thank G-d for the loving, gentle suggestions of mentors, friends and faith companions since the injury occurred in March: keep writing, keep walking, keep talking about it. I survived because of those suggestions. I survived because of that care. And I gotta thank G-d. 

I am surviving. I gotta thank G-d. I hope you hear me.

The Plague Upon This House

Ultimate irony:
you water the plants, feed the birds and make the bed upon which both of you sleep
yet she remains parched, unfed, and restless
wishing a love between you, once alive and life-giving
might awaken again.

Hollow soul:
what has deadened you,
positioned your body in defense
and closed any possibilities for openness?

I witness
and find this poisonous ruptured relationship
a challenge to my pastoral stance.
What can I do to heal such cantankerous hostility?
How might I occupy the triangle without being torn apart by it?
What prayers might move against the tides threatening to drown her heart?

Link to Patheos Advent Series

Here's the link to the Advent series I'm doing with Corbin & Tai Amri. Check it out. Comments welcomed there or here.

http://www.patheos.com/Resources/Additional-Resources/Advent-Intentionality.html

Waiting on the Christ of compassion to come...

Ejoye

Dying to Believe

November 5th, 2008.

We gathered, about 12 all together, in a tiny living room
in a tiny apartment. We were on the second floor.
Below people began screaming, so we went to the windows.
My mom called. She was crying. East Coast got word first.
Then they--John Stewart and Steven Colbert--announced it.
You won.
My living room companions clapped. Some yelled.
Some jumped up and began running around. I just wept and wept. I couldn't believe it.
You won.

The acceptance speech put us all in check; you knew the work cut out for you
and didn't hesitate to tell us about it. Further humbled by your grace,
the spirit of reverence for responsibility took hold. For a moment we were silent.
The screaming below got louder and louder, so we hit the streets.
We passed around ideas of where to go: Jack London Square?
City Hall? 20 minutes later we joined other political wanderers
at the corner of Broadway & Grand, right outside Luka's Taproom.

All the colors and queers began drumming, dancing and sanctifying the intersection.
Oakland's finest were in full effect. No censoring or controlling the movement that night.
The people owned the pavement, for once. Police officers put up their barricades for us, for you.
They actually let us get rowdy. People wrapped themselves in American Flags and circled
the community. Black people held each other like tearful lovers reuniting after years apart.
The old long-haired white hippie left-overs from the 60's crowded together with candles.
Even the punk-rock bandits poured in offering shouts of joy.
You brought us all there, that corner in Oakland, on that day.
You won.

In the middle of the celebration I recalled the moment I turned the corner on you.
When John Legend sang at the National Democratic Convention, he used these words:
"I'm dying to believe that you're out there."
As a theologian I reflected upon the rhetoric of hope,
the possibilities for transformative political leadership,
a shift in my generation's attitude toward agency and change--all the things you stood for
and all things bigger than you.
We wanted justice.
We wanted diversity in leadership.
We wanted grass roots movement.

People worked tirelessly for you, dying to believe that what you offered might actually come true.
And it did: that night when you won. We danced our assess off and screamed our lungs
into scratchyness the next morning. On the corner of Broadway & Grand, we prayed
our gratitude for the "new thing" happening because of your willingness to lead us.

December 2nd, 2009
$1.08 trillion total funding for "both" (as if we're only occupying 2 countries) wars through fiscal 2010.
30,000 troops on their way to Afghanistan as of your declaration last night.
98,000 proposed U.S. troop level in Afghanistan in total.

I don't think you want this, deep down. Somebody must own you. I say institute the draft, right now.

This morning I saw the headlines--I was leading an Advent workshop last night
and couldn't hear your speech (how ironic)--and felt a gut-wrenching spiritual ache.
The ache of disillusionment.
The ache of wondering if we all got fooled into thinking it'd be different.
The ache of wondering if you got fooled into thinking you'd be different.
The ache of pondering how it feels to be a citizen today
given how it felt to be a citizen on the corner of Broadway & Grand on November 5th 2008.

I'm dying to believe that you're out there, that you are still the person I worked so hard to elect,
that you care about the working class, and people of color and you wouldn't sacrifice
your principles to put them on front lines for money or any other pimped out virtue.
I'm dying to believe that you're out there, that you think about Iraqi, Afghani and Pakistani
children when you look into Malia and Sasha's eyes.
I'm dying to believe the hope we birthed wasn't a waste.

World AIDS Day