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Seven years ago, I was trying to figure out what direction I was headed in, trying to hear God’s voice, trying to figure out what was actually next for me. I look back at those posts from 2010, and I see a younger me trying to let the process unfold as it should.

At every step, I’ve been fairly clear that the next thing to do is just the next right thing to do – whether it was another essay, or another form, or another class, or whatever presented itself next. I didn’t look far ahead like I usually did – I just did what I was meant to do next, because the big future planning hadn’t worked out so well for me, and why not actually trust God for a change?

Well, that next right thing process has now gotten me to this day, this day of my ordination into the Unitarian Universalist ministry.

Ain’t that a hell of a thing.

And here I am, at the culmination of a journey which is in fact the start of a journey. In these nearly seven years, I have leaned in, breathed deeply, and discovered the minister I am and the ministry I am called to – a ministry of the heart as much as a ministry of the arts – and for me it is less about being the artist and more about inspiring creation and creativity as our way to truth and right action.

The readings and songs that make up my ordination service are all very much about following that impulse: to enter the difficult sideways through the act and experience of creation, to open our hearts to a love that is limitless and unimaginably good, to leap boldly into possibility.

One particular piece, written by my friend, the Biblical scholar Celene Lillie, specifically for my ordination (what a gift it is!), is a narrative of the call of Mary Magdalene: Mary, who was not told to follow Jesus and learn from him, and whose words after his death were met with doubt, and whose very character was defiled by church fathers centuries after her death. Mary, whose call, Celene notes, “is not uncomplicated.”

Our calls are complicated – especially the calls of women who choose an alternative path in ministry. What does it mean to breathe into and step forward into a complicated call of the arts and the heart in a complicated world? I don’t know, and I suspect the sermon my mentor preaches today is going to challenge us to consider it…just as I will be challenged by this call every day.

But what I do know is that this call is full of color and movement, sound and excitement, chaos and stillness, truth and beauty, awe and wonder, openness and possibility, friendship and love.

 

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There are those who know right from the start what their path in life is meant to be. And there are those, like me, who have tried a number of different paths, some successful until they weren’t, some interrupted by crisis or tragedy or failure. I personally got to the point where I stopped thinking about the future, because I couldn’t bear the crushing disappointment.

So when I answered the call to ministry, I was very clear that I couldn’t think all the way to ordination, because I couldn’t bear it if I didn’t make it. Instead, I would just do what was in front of me – apply to seminary, get funding, get through the semester, fill out the forms, write the essays, check off the boxes, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

When I arrived in Southold in August 2015 following seminary and my internship, there were still steps ahead, and I still kept my head down, focusing on just the next step – prepare for the ministerial fellowship committee, complete my clinical pastoral education, fill out the forms, have the conversations, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

And now, having been welcomed into preliminary fellowship (with more forms and essays, because I think paperwork will actually be the death of me), there is just one final step.

I am blessed that the Board of Trustees, on behalf of the First Universalist Church of Southold, has agreed to ordain me into Unitarian Universalist ministry.

I realize of course that the ordination is not the start of my ministry. Rather, an ordination is in some ways like a wedding – just as a wedding is in many ways a spiritual and legal affirmation of the existing relationship, so too an ordination is a spiritual and legal affirmation of the existing ministry.

And still, the act of ordination is a big moment – it will be a big service with some great music, great preaching and readings, and some pomp and circumstance. It will also be a party to celebrate the long road I have traveled, which you have traveled with me.

As details emerge, and as more thoughts emerge, I will undoubtedly write more. But for now…

SQUEE!

 

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An open letter to Chris Hardwick, founder of The Nerdist and host of The Nerdist Podcast (and @midnight and The Talking Dead and who knows what else because he’s doing so much as he follows his bliss):

Dear Chris,

I want to thank you for the impact The Nerdist Podcast has made on me.

Like many GenXers, I have done several things professionally – retail, teaching, singing, acting and directing, arts management, editing and publishing – always feeling that there was something more I could do, and definitely feeling rather like Salieri in Amadeus, second best, never getting the breaks. Thus it was something of a surprise when I realized I was called to ministry and am now in the first few years of my career as a Unitarian Universalist minister. When I first discerned the call to ministry, I was very clear that I didn’t want to be a congregational minister – I was clear that my call had something to do with the arts. But Salieri syndrome kicked in again, because I am not a great actor, or an instrumentalist, or a composer or playwright – and because others in my denomination are more creative and out there doing amazing things.

I tell you this because about a year ago, having resigned myself to congregational ministry, I started listening to the podcast. Sure, some of them are simply hysterical, and I am so grateful for that – I listened to your first podcast with Wil Wheaton about a week after the election and it was the first time I had laughed since that horrible day, so much so I had to pull off on the side of the road because tears were streaming down my face.

But alongside the humor, especially in the podcasts from the last year or two, you have engaged in incredibly thoughtful conversations with incredibly bright and thoughtful people about creativity, inspiration, temperament, process, and the philosophy of art. Episode after episode, you are tapping into a deep truth about our impulse as humans to create and express ourselves, and the ways in which those impulses define our attitudes and character.

Those conversations have mattered – on a larger scale, of course, but also to me personally. Your call to us to find that thing and do it has helped me realize that I don’t have to be Mozart to be effective, and useful, and needed. Your call to us to find that thing and do it has helped me see that my call to ministry isn’t about being the best artist but rather to inspire others to create, to do, to use the arts to find truth, to understand the world, to connect with others, to let our spirits play. And goodness knows we need it – more than ever, when the political and social landscape seeks to crush us, we need to create art and be inspired by art in order to survive.

And so I thank you – for helping me discern my need to leave the congregation and work as a “freelance” minister working with communities to inspire and enrich their lives with art – for continuing this vital conversation about creativity – and for making us laugh so hard I can’t drive.

Thank you.

Enjoy your burrito…

Image by Jimiyo at Deviant Art – free for use under Creative Commons License

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“Take this bread, broken as my body is broken…eat this, in remembrance of me…”

Eat this, in remembrance of Jesus, a teacher, a pastor, a radical, a beloved son whose body was broken by a system that could not bear his truths.

Eat this, in remembrance of Sharon, the coworker whose body was broken one too many times by a violent spouse.

Eat this, in remembrance of Michael, the homeless Desert Storm vet whose body was broken when his staggering body hit the hood of my car, rolled over the roof, and crashed onto the pavement.

Eat this, in remembrance of Tricia, the beloved woman who shared my life and whose body was broken by the ravages of drug addiction, shame, and struggle.

Eat this, in remembrance of Rick, a fellow thespian whose body was broken by the HIV virus before he could create his dramatic masterpiece.

Eat this, in remembrance of my self, whose soul has been broken by grief, and trauma, and depression, and heartache – but whose body still has power and presence and the ability to help the least of these.

 

“This wine is my blood, my life poured out … drink this, in remembrance of me…”

Drink this, in remembrance of Jesus, whose blood drained from his body as he hung on the cross.

Drink this, in remembrance of Sharon, whose blood gathered in bruises that betrayed her best efforts to hide the abuse.

Drink this, in remembrance of Michael, whose blood stained the asphalt as his life left him..

Drink this, in remembrance of Tricia, whose blood was arrested in her body and could no longer pump through her heart.

Drink this, in remembrance of Rick, whose blood was overtaken by a virus that was – at the time – a death sentence.

Drink this, in remembrance of my self, whose blood courses still through my veins, a reminder that my life is called to love and protect and nurture and fight for those who cannot and could not…

 

Amen.

 

 

 

 

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You never know what a casual, off-handed comment will lead to.

Three times on Saturday, I made a casual comment about who I am, where I work, and what I do, and three times, I found myself sharing the good news of Unitarian Universalism.

The first was outside our congregation’s yard sale. I must have looked like I belonged there, because a man stopped me and asked “what is this place?” I replied, it’s a Unitarian Universalist church. He seemed hesitant at first, and then said, “Wait, are you the love people?” I smiled as he explained he’d been to a marriage equality rally in another state and saw our big yellow Standing on the Side of Love banners. He said “Y’all are all right. I will definitely buy something.” I smiled again and said, “if you’re around on Sunday, you should come to a service.” He frowned for a moment, and I followed up with “we are all about love here. Doesn’t matter what you believe, only that you act in love.” He smiled finally and said, “now this is a church I could dig.”

I don’t know if he came on Sunday (I had a rare Sunday off), but I know he bought something.

—

The second was at The Gardens, where my friend Will Johnson plays piano on Saturday afternoons. I try to go every week, to have a glass of wine and listen to some wonderful music. It’s become a spiritual self-care practice for me and I miss it the weeks he’s not playing or I can’t attend. Because I am a Saturday regular, I have gotten to know some of the staff, including Amber, who runs the wine gallery. I came in to get some wine, and I said something offhand about how some weeks, this is as close to going to church I get, since I am a minister. Of course, she asked where, and then asked me what we believe. I got to share the good news of our non-creedal, covenantal faith. She smiled and said “I really miss going to some sort of church, but I am more Buddhist now and feel uncomfortable elsewhere.” I told her how we draw wisdom from the world’s religions, and how, as Francis David said, “we don’t have to think alike to love alike.” She hugged me with relief and said, “I’ve been looking for you for years… and you’re right around the corner.” I promised to meet her next Sunday morning for coffee and bring her to the service.

 

—

The third happened just a few hours later. Because I didn’t have to preach, I decided to stop by another local establishment to see some friends and have one more glass of wine. Shortly after I arrived, a 30-ish couple, Harold and Leann, sat at the bar near me. We chatted lightly as they ordered some unconventional cocktails, and in the “where are you from” part of our small talk, I mentioned I serve a congregation in Key West and am here for a year. That led to the inevitable “where” and “what do you believe” questions, as well as questions about how to be loving to those who don’t believe as you do. We spoke for over an hour, and they began to identify more than a couple of friends who attend a Unitarian Universalist congregation in their home town of Milwaukee. I found their friends’ congregation online and gave them the service information. At the end, Harold asked me for my card, and said “I’ll email you after our first visit.”

—

Evangelism isn’t difficult. People are longing to hear our good news – radical hospitality, freedom to search for truth, respect and regard for the earth and every living thing on it, space to explore and breathe and connect and do good in the world without threat of damnation. Almost by accident, I testified to our saving message to four different people, each of whom was hungry for us, searching for us, needing to hear about us. Sure, I didn’t start Saturday expecting to evangelize, but I am glad I did. I won’t know the long-term effects of these conversations, but it mattered in those moments.

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Last Monday at our weekly Theology on Tap gathering, we discussed death. Cheery topic, I know, but we had a wonderful conversation about funerals, memorial services, preparing wills and other documents, and how we perceive our own impending deaths.

Someone mentioned the idea of living each day as if it were your last, and another considered the idea of living each day as if it were your first. Somewhere in the middle of it we talked about our bucket lists – things we want to do before we die. Someone said he was writing a history of his life so that his close descendants could look back and see that dad had done things he wanted to do.

Now I have joked a time or two about a bucket list, but I realized at that gathering that if I had a list, there are a number of things that would already be crossed off it. And more – there are things that other people might wish were on my list, but I know don’t belong there at all. Does anyone know some of the things I’ve done – that I wanted to do? Does anyone know why there are things I haven’t done and am okay with?

It seems to me that we keep looking ahead with longing, or back with regret. But this kind of assessment lets us look at our lives with some sense of connection to who we are and where we’re headed. I want someone to know that not only did I not have kids, but I was fine with it. I want someone to know that I’d always wanted to live in NYC and go to grad school and I got to do both at the same time. I want someone to know big and little things have happened in my life that are pretty cool. I want someone – besides me – to know something about me.

We don’t know when we will kick the bucket. I hope it’s a long time from now, but just in case… here’s a quick list of some notable things I have gotten to do and have chosen not to do, and few things I still hope to do. Just in case.

Things I’ve wanted to do, that I did (even if I didn’t realize it was something I wanted to do until I did it):

  • Live in New York City
  • Live and work on a tropical island
  • Travel to the Channel Islands
  • Fall in love and live with a partner (it’s been a while, but I did it)
  • Finish my bachelors
  • Get a graduate degree
  • Discover where I belong spiritually
  • Organize a protest
  • Organize a voter-registration drive
  • Present a paper at an academic conference
  • Direct and perform on Broadway (accomplished on a technicality – I directed and performed at Union Theological Seminary, which is on Broadway and 121st)
  • Preach to over 150 people
  • Meet some heroes: Rita Mae Brown, Z Budapest, Starhawk, Marilynne Robinson, Bill Moyers, Harry Belafonte, Harvey Fierstein, Carly Simon, Lee Smith, Kaye Gibbons, Ysaye Barnwell
  • Sing for someone well known (Carter Heyward is a giant in feminist theology and I got to sing to her at her partner’s memorial service)
  • Get paid to act
  • Get paid to do comedy
  • Get a standing ovation
  • Be a redhead

 

Things that were never on a bucket list (and I’m perfectly okay with that):

  • Have kids
  • Own a house
  • Marry my high school sweetheart
  • Run a race of any sort
  • Go to the top of any building or tower

 

Things that still exist on the bucket list:

  • Be ordained
  • Figure out the answer to just one of life’s big questions
  • Conduct a wedding
  • Be able to support myself doing my arts ministry
  • Retire to the Channel Islands
  • Visit New Zealand and Australia
  • Be my ideal weight – just once, please?
  • Get Lasix surgery
  • Pay off my student loans
  • Play Mame and Dolly
  • Meet my grand-nieces and grand-nephews
  • Write a book
  • Meet one more hero: Stephen Fry

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I have never been comfortable with the word “bisexual.” As a young queer woman in Durham, North Carolina, in the 80s and 90s, our community was very clear that we would use the acronym LGBT, but we would struggle with the T (a subject for another day), and we would not believe the B. I grew to understood the B as meaning “not really gay” or “can’t make up their minds” or “horndog.” So in fact, “bisexual” was a wishy-washy term, attractive to couples looking for threesomes, useful as a category to put questioning folks in.

After my partner Tricia died in 1998, I found comfort not from my gay and lesbian friends, but from my straight male friends. They seemed to hear the pain in my heart – especially one friend, Mark. Mark’s comfort was inviting, and my relationship with him did turn romantic for a while. And that was fine. My mistake was telling my lesbian friends, who branded me a traitor to the sisterhood, who called me a “hasbian,” and then proceeded to ostracize me from the community I had loved and served in for years.

Over the next 15 years, I stopped dating women altogether and focused on men. I decided that my “lesbian days were over” but I didn’t quite step into the term “straight” (despite two boyfriends’ attempts). I also didn’t see myself as bisexual, because at that point, I was not sexually attracted to women, and I knew all the problems the B word brought with it.

That was fine for me personally – I didn’t really need labels. However, I knew that many would not understand my personal history, and I worried that they would think my years as an out, proud, activist lesbian were “just a phase” or that I was embarrassed by those relationships and activities – something that couldn’t be further from the truth. But I also carried the old, tired definitions of bisexual with me – and I honestly did not feel attracted to women at that point. How could I be bisexual if I don’t feel attracted to more than one gender? I wasn’t trying to play the field. I knew the truths of my romantic history and sexual orientations. But I couldn’t explain it well. Throughout seminary, I used the word “queer” and said simply “I exist in the queer cloud” as a way to show my general solidarity but not identify as anything I didn’t think I was.

So fast forward to this week.

Bisexual Visibility Week.

I started reading articles, blog posts, and Facebook statuses from and about bisexuals. Someone shared the video of actress Anna Paquin trying to explain to Larry King that her sexual orientation is not defined by the person she is in a relationship with. Someone else talked about the misconceptions about being confused and still sorting their identity out. And then I read this quote from Robin Ochs in an article called Bisexuality 101:

“Bisexuals are people who acknowledge in themselves the potential to be attracted – romantically and/or sexually – to people of more than one sex and/or gender, not necessarily at the same time, not necessarily in the same way, and not necessarily to the same degree.”

Not necessarily at the same time.

Oh.

Oh!

Oh. I AM bisexual… and it is my definitions that are too narrow.

As open and knowledgeable as I am about gender identity and sexual orientation, I was remarkably closed-minded about bisexuality. Mine, particularly. While I was open and affirming about others’ bisexuality, I used the old, outdated, incredibly short-sighted definitions for myself, thus cutting me off from embracing the fullness of who I am.

And I was doing a serious disservice to the people I want to minister to. A recent study shows that bisexual youth face particularly specific challenges. Others may not know what to do or say to be a good bisexual ally, whether they themselves are gay or straight. And others may just need to see the richer, more colorful texture of sexual orientation, even as we speak more fully about the richer, more colorful texture of gender identity. I need to be out, not just as queer, but out as who I am, in order to best serve others.

So…big breath…. here goes:

bisexuality-flag-heartI am bisexual.

I wish to be visible… to my friends, to my congregation, to my community, to my denomination…. and most of all, to my self.

I am bisexual.

I am a sexually healthy, emotionally healthy, spiritually healthy human being that has loved and been attracted to people across the gender spectrum, to different degrees, at different times, in different ways.

I am bisexual.

I am called to ministry, to be everything I am and want to be, including who and how I choose to love.

I am bisexual.

 

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So… then there was that time I scrolled through my Facebook newsfeed and saw this:

Running after “slaying a dragon,” at all costs, with no relationship to your divine or to the other human beings in the world, will never generate joy .

A Hero’s Journey doesn’t suit us. It’s just not going to work.
We need something else, we need a new map.

We need to step into the Heroine’s Journey.

The Hero points himself in the direction of a singular goal,
the Heroine uses her desire as her internal compass.

The Hero leads with his sword,
the Heroine leads with her pleasure.

The Hero is alone,
the Heroine locates herself in community, in sisterhood, in collaboration.

The Hero is self-sacrificing,
the Heroine receives from others.

The Hero revels in his victory, no matter the price.
the Heroine is filled with deep gratitude at the privilege of life, itself, at every twist in her storyline.

The Hero never questions himself, or his value, or direction,
the Heroine lives inside the question, and trusts that the enjoyment of her deep longing draws her desires closer to her, every day.

The Hero survives adversity against all odds,
the Heroine owns her rupture, surrenders to it, celebrates the perfection of her circumstances, no matter what.

The heroine takes a huge leap- she chooses to be the author of her own storyline, rather than the victim.

The power and the fuel that allows the Heroine’s Journey to unfold is her turn on.
Turned on to life. Turned on to her divinity. Turned on to her beauty. Turned on to her pleasure. Turned on to her power.
When a woman is turned on, she is tuned in.

And I realized that maybe my hesitation isn’t fear, but that I’ve been living the wrong story.

 

 

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I don’t understand it.

I am an extrovert and love to process ideas, emotions, and experiences with people. I hold strong opinions about equality, justice, compassion, and ethics. I am willing to be in a crowd of people rallying for causes, to sign a petition, to write letters, to even blog a bit about things I believe.

But I am scared to death of stepping out on my own.

I want more than anything to be brave, to have the courage of my convictions, to not worry about what others think of me, to go boldly in the direction of my dreams and vision. I want to be an example. I want to be Me with a capital M. I want to affect change. I want to take risks and make a difference.

Instead, I worry about what others will think. I step out gingerly. I couch my comments in wiggle words. I make excuses to stay among the crowd, not stand out. I dress conservatively.

Some of my caution comes from knowing there are others who have to approve of me in order to reach my goals – including ordination. I surely don’t want to freak out the Ministerial Fellowship Committee any more than I have already freaked out the Regional Subcommittee on Candidacy (who thought I was too theatrical and garrulous). And I will always need the approval of someone who will hire me to be their minister/consultant/artist/director.

Some of my caution comes from living in a family with beloved members who are on the opposite side of the political spectrum, who are older and have the power to put me on the defensive with just a look, whose questions hit like accusations.

But most of my caution comes from being a middle aged woman in America.

I’ve been called pushy, overwhelming, aggressive, too much. I’ve been told I “scare the boys in engineering.” I’ve been told to not go too far, do too much. Even in my years as an LGBT activist in the 1990s, I experienced urges for temperance and caution.

I’ve been taught to not do too much, not to color outside the lines, not to breathe into the fullness of who I am.

Who I am, of course, is a beautiful, loving, passionate, creative, compassionate, brilliant, sexy, queer, full-figured femme woman with a deep and unshakeable call to ministry. I am a powerhouse who wants more than anything to unleash my femministry on the world. I am a guide and a muse who wants more than anything to help others unleash their awesomeness on the world. I am a missional mother who wants more than anything to love the hell out of this world.

It is a fact that I am surrounded by bold, creative, beautiful, brilliant people who are much less fearful – who step out, who make waves, who are not afraid to be who they are. One of them even got honored on this impressive list of incredibly bold femmes.

Now my experience, qualities, and desires are particular to me, but the truth is, most of us are scared of something. Something holds us back from living into our fullness. Something keeps us ineffective, uncreative, and fearful. It could be money, or family, or a job, or – and this is more likely – messages from someone who told us we should scale down our dreams and desires, to be realistic, to be responsible rather than radical.

So how do we stop the cycle? How do we stop letting others’ expectations keep us from our fullness? How do we  – how do I – stop being afraid?

dragshow2014Over this past year, I’ve been observing my Year of Jubilee – it is my 50th on earth, and I have been consciously noting life lessons, the thoughts and habits I want to discard, and those I want to express. I’ve been unearthing my true self. It’s been incredible – I’ve made frequent posts on Facebook, run a Tumblr of ideas, slogans, and images that speak to my true self, and have done a fair bit of private journaling. I know that by the time I complete this year-long spiritual practice, I will be stronger, freer, more creative, bolder. I am daily rejecting messages that keep me cowed and timid.

But it’s a process.

And maybe that’s my real message today. If you’ve spent a lifetime being timid, boldness can’t necessarily come rushing in all at once.

But I am ready for more boldness. I’ve been preparing for it, and when I look back, I can see many places where I am much bolder than I have been as recently as last fall.

I am still scared. I am still hesitant. And I don’t want to be.

But step by step, I’m making progress.

And that’s something.

 

 

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When I first formed Word Alchemy five years ago, it was with an eye to being able to work anywhere in the world. While I was comfortable in upstate New York, I quickly set my sights on working on a tropical island, and I would joke about working “the Nassau Way”… complete with wifi and electricity that extends to the hammock near the water and an administrative assistant well-versed in bookkeeping, organization, and daiquiri-making.

I dreamed into this further as I worked with Ray Patterson and his brilliant strategic life visioning process. And for Christmas 2009, Carl Eeman gave me a poster of that hammock by the sea. When I got the poster, I taped it (I thought temporarily) over a framed print of “Night with her Train of Stars” that hangs on the wall across from my bed. Since that Christmas day in 2009, I have looked at that poster every day I have been in that room. This is my view:

dreamonmywall

Since then, of course, I heard the call to ministry and am well on my way. Part of being on my way is seeking an internship position in a congregation for the year after I graduate from seminary.  As early as this past August, I started haunting the UUA’s Internship Clearinghouse… and was delighted to discover a new teaching congregation in Key West, Florida. Key West! That seemed so fantastical… yet what an opportunity! While other congregations began to fill the page, I found myself not willing to let go of my initial thrill, and added Key West to the sites I applied for.

Now I will admit – at some point, in the midst of interviewing with some large congregations with well-established intern minister programs, I began to think Key West might be too small and too green. And then I heard someone at another seminary say “everyone is applying there!” and I figured the pool would be too large and I would get lost in the mix anyway.

I am happy to say I interviewed at all the sites I applied for.. but after each of the first three, I felt a little uncomfortable, doubtful, and worried. I knew I’d be happy at two of them but it was clear I wasn’t a really good fit.

And then I talked to the intern search committee in Key West. It was an incredibly fantastic conversation. I heard places where my gifts would meet their needs … and of course where their strengths would teach me and help soften my growing edges. We laughed together, we spoke in first person terms, we engaged each other. And when I hung up I thought “this is it.” I then heard from my references that they’d had amazing conversations with the committee as well.

On Wednesday, December 18th, Rev. Dr. Randy Becker and board president Joy Taylor called to offer me the position as their intern minister, starting August 1, 2014… and now I am a part of One Island Family, the Southernmost Unitarian Universalist Congregation.

A day later, I traveled back to Round Lake for the holidays, and as I sat on my bed, I looked and saw that poster.

The dreaming… the imagining…the visioning.

Made manifest.

Sure, not precisely as I imagined it five years ago… but five years ago, I knew I wanted to live and work on a tropical island. And in about seven months, I will be doing exactly that… in a more meaningful, heart-felt, missional way.

Can dreams come true? Bet on it. And if you are open to how they will manifest, they may surprise you and be even better than you imagined.