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This is a post I should have written a month ago, when Rev. Jennifer Slade took her life – a beautiful, brilliant, humanity-affirming life. Her death was shocking and jarring. But I didn’t write then, perhaps because while she was a colleague, I didn’t know her personally and didn’t know how to parse it. I didn’t know what to say then.

It’s been a couple of days now since Robin Williams took his own life – also a beautiful, brilliant, humanity-affirming life. And while I didn’t know him personally either, somehow I think we all did on one level – we knew him through his antic comedy and his moving drama. He came into our living rooms and our movie theatres and we knew him. After hearing the news, my cousin wrote, “if he only knew how we felt… really felt.”

And suddenly, I know what to say – to those who loved Jennifer, to those who loved Robin, and to those who love anyone.

It might not have been enough, knowing how people really felt. I know, because I have lived it.

I have lived that moment when, despite having some success and security, I could see no way out.

I have lived that moment when, despite knowing that there were people who would miss me, I thought they would be better off without me.

I have lived that moment when, despite being knowledgeable about mental illness and the tragedies of suicide, it just didn’t matter.

Now obviously, I didn’t commit suicide. Instead, like a robot, I went to work, and thankfully the better angels in my head compelled me to say something to someone. They got me to a doctor, who got me to a psychiatrist, who got me treatment, which helped me get well. I now know better how to manage the sadness, how to reach out, what to look for in my own life so that I won’t go down that road again.

But I have lived that moment, when a decision is made. For me, the delay was largely because I couldn’t come up with a method that I thought would work. But I had made a decision.

There’s a scene in an episode of M*A*S*H, where psychiatrist Sidney Freedman spends some time at the 4077th because he had lost a patient. He explains the moment to Hawkeye:

Actually, the straw that broke my back was a kid who was hearing voices telling him to kill himself. After some time with him, he got very quiet, sometimes that’s a sign they’ve made up their minds. Only somehow, I missed it. And then that night, after we all went to sleep, that sweet, innocent, troubled kid… listened to the voices.

I know that moment of quiet. And I imagine Jennifer and Robin probably seemed calmer to family and friends in those last days than they had leading up to it. It’s impossible to know exactly what was in their mind, but I can imagine, because I’ve lived it.

—

So what do we do? If I hadn’t said something to a coworker, I might not be here today. The truth is, no one asked me. I put up a front of being very together, very self-assured, very competent and confident. I was (and still am) the person others came to for problems.

What we do is engage.

What we do is talk to people, not about their accomplishments, but about their lives.

What we do is ask “how are you” and stay present as we hear the answer.

What we do is not assume the confident person has a busy schedule and wouldn’t possibly be interested in going to lunch or a movie or helping with a project.

What we do is be present to those who otherwise might be outside our close circle.

What we do is be in covenant.

“Love is the doctrine of this church,” we recite, “to the end that all shall grow into harmony… thus do we covenant with one another.” Not contract, not promise, not lawfully abide. Covenant. Be in right relation. With everyone.

It’s possible that Jennifer had good, strong people in covenant with her and like Sidney Freedman, they still missed the signs. It’s possible Robin was surrounded by people who genuinely loved him, not his celebrity or his genius, and they still missed the signs.

But then I remember the viral stories of the men – one a police officer at the Golden Gate Bridge, one an Irishman who lives near a cliff – who talk to people who look like they’ve made a decision, and encourage them to keep living. They have an unspoken covenant with these people – to know them. To relate to them. To care for them. To listen when no one else will. Sometimes it isn’t the people closest to us that make the difference but simply the people who take seriously the care of being in covenant with one another.

A decade ago, Jeannie Gagne wrote an incredible, haunting piece (available to all of us in Singing the Journey) called “In My Quiet Sorrow,” written to honor those times when we carry “sorrows in our hearts that sometimes go unexpressed—with a prayer for support, love, and guidance. We all have times in our lives that are challenging; sometimes we need to ask for help, but we don’t know quite how or when.” (from the UUA’s song information page) Our covenant to one another is to hold each other and be present for each other in these times:

I am worn,
I am tired,
in my quiet sorrow.
Hopelessness will not let me be.
Help me

I won’t speak
of this ache
inside, light eludes me.
In the silence of my heart,
I’m praying.

I keep on,
day by day,
trusting light will guide me.
Will you be with me through this time,
holding me?

You’re my hope
when I fear
holding on, believing.
Deep inside I pray I’m strong.
Blessed be.

You may not know what to say exactly. But say something. And genuinely listen.

You never know, and you still may miss some of the signs, but you may also make all the difference.

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Over at Quest for Meaning, David Breeden made the case for Unitarian Universalism being a Do It Yourself religion. He writes:

We do well to draw a sharp line between the subjectivity of religious experience and the objectivity of a congregational, corporate life together. Where I get my personal religious jolt is up to me—Hinduism, Christianity, Buddhism, paganism, pantheism, atheism, all of the above . . . Up to me. DIY. Where I find my meaning is up to me.

Where I go for my religious, corporate, home is up to us.

For those who will be following Moore’s advice on DIY religion, one of the best homes is a Unitarian Universalist congregation . . . If . . . we can awaken to how big the tent must be.

This is the wisdom of the idea of covenant embedded so deeply in Unitarian tradition. “We need not think alike to live alike,” is the sentiment, even if no one famous ever actually said it.

Breeden makes a good case for widening the tent, recognizing that as the more narrowly-defined mainline churches are declining, we have an opportunity (using his metaphor) to be the craft brewery in a sea of Budweiser. We should be, can be, must be the big tent of belief. Our third and fourth principles (acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations, and a free and responsible search for truth and meaning) demand it. And we have an opportunity as a non-creedal religion to make that tent as large as the world. And he even is clear that we’re not talking about congregational life, but rather individual spiritual growth.

But there is a danger.

As I read his post, Breeden seems to have forgotten the lessons we learned from Tim Taylor.

Tim-Al-home-improvement-tv-show-33059707-392-500The television show Home Improvement featured actor/comedian Tim Allen as the host of a DIY show called “Tool Time” – an expert on DIY, except an incompetent one. The running gag throughout the series was that Tim was constantly at the ER for various accidents, was always messing up a DIY project at his home, and relied heavily on the calmer expertise of his sidekick Norm. Without Norm, all hell would indeed break loose (and often did, to great comic result).

But amid the laughter, we saw Tim waste precious time and resources on ill-advised projects taken up without good support, guidance, or the right tools.

And that is the danger I see in the DIY model of religion. I should know. I was a DIYer for a long time.

Throughout my 20s and most of my 30s, I did it myself. I read books, I tried my hand at spiritual practices, I attempted to find communities of likeminded people to conduct rituals with, but my actual religious life was a mess. Even in those early years of attending a UU congregation, I was there mostly for the LGBTQ activism and the music. I was a DIYer, and I knew my path.

Except I didn’t. Contradictions abounded in my beliefs, in my practices. I felt constantly adrift, always looking for the next cool thing to feed my spirituality.

And then I began attending a UU congregation whose minister actually cared about our spiritual growth as well as our personal growth. Her gentle and calm expertise helped me, and others in our congregation, find and explore our spiritual paths responsibly and with great care. As a result, I stopped drifting and seeking aimlessly, and I began to not only understand my beliefs (which, as it turns out, is Universalism on a bed of Process Theology, seasoned with Paganism and a bit of Christianity on the side), but finally stop long enough to hear the call to ministry.

Breeden is right in that we have – or at least should have – a tent big enough for the wideness of spiritual understanding. But we should not be a place where folks wander aimlessly through the aisles hoping the right screw or angle brace jumps out at us. We should not be a place where a towering wall of microbrews beg for our attention with catchy names and striking labels. Let us instead be a place where each person is calmly and gently welcomed and guided by those who have been on the path before us and know the way. Just as home improvement stores hold classes and have experts on hand, so should we – courses like  Building Your Own Theology and Wellspring Spiritual Deepening, along with good spiritual direction, make all the difference.

That is why we are a religion and not a collection of people who like some of the same things. Not because we believe the same things, but because we travel together with knowledge and the same kind of seeking hearts. Our tent is big, but our tent should contain experts and signs and guides and companions so that we don’t have to just do it all ourselves.

 

 

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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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The look on Kevin’s face said it all.

Kevin (not his real name) and his girlfriend Joann (not her real name either) had joined me for lunch, and the discussion found its way to the shooting in California, #NotAllMen, #YesAllWomen, and the subsequent conversations that have erupted this week.

Kevin, one of the most gentle and progressive men I know, was struggling to understand why the two of us, who had never experienced sexual violence, were so adamant that #YesAllWomen spoke a broader truth. How could it be that every woman could say they lived under fear and frustration due to systematic misogyny?

That’s when I asked Joann to pull out her keys as though she was going to her car alone – while I did the same. Together, we held our keys like weapons, each key sticking out between our fingers like a strange set of brass knuckles.

Kevin was surprised. A bit taken aback.

I then reminded him that while not all men act on impulses, women don’t know which ones will or won’t. And Kevin let out a quiet “oh” as he finally got it. Our conversation then veered toward recognition of privilege and how moments like this help us be more sensitive and better allies.

Unfortunately, not every conversation in the last week has been so positive. For every good post about how men can push back against systematic misogyny, there was an equal and opposite post by men, and even some women, pushing back hard against #YesAllWomen – arguments full of false equivalencies and accusations of emotionalism (can we say “gaslighting?”).  (No, I’m not linking to them.) Yes, even some of the “helpful” posts on how men can be better allies for women were still somewhat difficult in places. And – not surprisingly, men who said positive things tended to get more attention than women. My friend Scott Bateman illustrated this:

yesflow

The irony almost writes itself.

So what’s to do? Last week, I brought up my concern over women in ministry, and a call for our denomination to act. Others within our denomination did the same (see  UUWorld’s Interconnected Web roundup for more links).  I can report some steps are being taken:

First, the UU Women’s Federation is calling for us to examine our study action around reproductive justice to see where we need to push into issues of discrimination, harassment, and hate crimes.

Standing on the Side of Love posted an amazing story and call to action; I can report I will be meeting with some of the staff members of SSL at General Assembly to see what we can do next.

Mostly, I can tell you that I am not staying silent. I will keep talking about this; Rev. Sean Dennison suggested we should create space for ‘hearings’ – for people to tell their stories. (Sean also suggested we examine what we mean by ‘women’ and ‘misogyny’ as relates to people elsewhere on the gender identity/expression spectrum. I fully concur, knowing that I too need to learn more.) It’s vital that we tell our stories – they humanize us; they reveal, in their particularities, universal truths; they make it harder to discriminate and harm others. And for those who have suffered, it helps the healing to know we’re not alone.

I also know that something artistic will come out of this… I don’t know what it is yet, but women’s stories must be told. Maybe it’s the next step in my nameless project. Stay tuned.

But mostly, we just can’t keep quiet. My call this week is to keep on telling the stories. Keep on talking about this. I reached Kevin last week – imagine who I can reach this week, if I just keep talking?

Let’s keep talking.

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A friend and I were sitting on a bench on a busy street one evening, eating ice cream, laughing and enjoying the people watching. The bench was elevated, and my friend’s sandaled foot was at chest-level to the people walking past. Suddenly, a young man – clearly drunk, clearly college-aged – grabbed at her foot and started cooing after her brightly painted toenails. She said no and pulled her foot away. He chased after it. I stood up to intervene, and his friends pulled him away. One of them apologized. My friend was shaken, but more, she added this to the very long list of inappropriate touches and harassment she’s suffered in her life.

The next day, when we processed it, I made the stupid observation that I have never been the victim of inappropriate touch and harassment and while I could sympathize I could not truly empathize.

I call it stupid, because first and foremost, it was insensitive to separate myself from other women* and spread my own insecurities on a friend who had been harassed, but also because while I have not experienced the explicit harassment I witnessed that evening, I have been implicitly harmed because of the rampant misogyny that exists in our culture:

I have been excluded from certain committees, jobs, projects because I am a woman.

I am questioned – often with scorn – about being a single, child-free woman.

I carry my keys like a weapon when walking alone.

I know basic self-defense moves.

I keep an eye on other women I see walking alone to make sure they stay safe, and am on high alert when I hear a man and woman arguing.

I know many women who have suffered some sort of sexual abuse.

I cover up low-cut tops when going outside.

I have had medical concerns dismissed by medical professionals because I was making it up/overdramatizing/clearly seeking attention.

I know women who have been denied contraceptives.

I have been mansplained to by men. So has every woman I know.

I have been insulted for calling myself a feminist.

I am entering a profession where women are not always allowed the same access and position as men.

I have been called a bitch for turning a man down.

I have been called a bitch for asserting my position.

I have been called a bitch for simply existing.

nomeansnoAnd that’s just the tip of the iceberg. The hashtag #YesAllWomen  has made significant waves in the last day or so, in reaction to a tragic mass murder in California where the suspect made his disdain for women clear…and men, appropriately shocked by his actions, started to assert their concern with #NotAllMen. It was a good effort, and women are so grateful that not all men are misogynistic. Yet even that does not speak to the reality of #YesAllWomen.

Yes, all women experience abuse, discrimination, and condemnation. Yes, all women are affected by an unreasonable measure of beauty and womanhood. Yes, all women are affected by the institutionalizing of rape culture. Yes, all women are harmed by troubling religious texts and practices. No, not all men do these things, but yes, all women are hurt by them.

As Unitarian Universalists, we are called to affirm the inherent worth and dignity of every person. EVERY person. We cannot stay silent in this war against women. I know that many of our congregations open their doors to Planned Parenthood and NOW meetings, when no one else will. I know that many of our members fight for reproductive rights. I know that our sexuality education program, Our Whole Lives, promotes healthy boundaries and sexual behaviors.

Yet women ministers struggle in Unitarian Universalist pulpits. They face criticism over their clothing, their hair, their accents, their child-bearing responsibilities. They struggle with challenges to their ministerial authority. They bring the same truths that #YesAllWomen speaks to their pulpits, but if they talk about women’s issues more than three times in a year, they are condemned for being one-issue preachers. And frankly, as a woman going into ordained ministry, I fear that the shift of ministry into a “helping” profession will allow boards to reduce pay, lumping them into the same category as teachers and nurses, whose work is vital and whose pay is consistently too low.

I could go on and on, and on and on. Frankly, the more I write, the angrier I get. But that won’t solve anything. Instead, I am calling on our denomination – primarily the Standing on the Side of Love campaign – to take up the cause of women. We are fighting a scary, dangerous war, that compromises half the planet. We speak there of fighting vitriolic rhetoric – now is the time to speak out and say Yes, All Women are bullied when one is bullied. Yes, All Women are harmed when one is harmed. Yes, All Women deserve our full support as we erase the hate that perpetuates rape culture and misogyny.

We must take up this fight. For all women. For all people.

 

*”Women” in this post includes ALL people on the gender spectrum who identify on the female side – be they cis-gendered, femmes, genderqueer, trans, or other. We here on the Far Fringe recognize the complexity of gender identity and gender expression.

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I am not a mother. I have no children, either those I have born or those I have adopted or fostered. I don’t have any spiritual or emotional children either. There is no one in my life who calls me Mom for any reason.

That is by choice.

I can tell you the two times in my life I have considered the idea of having children: the first was listening to one romantic partner’s wondering what it would be like to raise a child with two moms; the second was recognizing the admirable parental attributes of another romantic partner and thinking briefly that if I were 20 years younger, I might have considered having children with him. I thought about being a mother for maybe five minutes total.

childlessI am, in fact, intentionally child free. I have really never had the mothering instinct, I have never felt that biological clock ticking, have never gone wistful seeing a baby, never thought how important it would be for me to be a mother.

But that’s only half the story. Most people are willing and eager, in fact, to emphasize how I give birth to creative projects and mother in other ways. It’s as though I have to replace having actual children with metaphorical children. It’s as though I am incomplete as a woman if I don’t have some sort of children. And it’s not just some friends and acquaintances who say this, offering this heartfelt replacement for what has to be a hole in my life. Our entire culture is centered around mothers and mothering, and on Mother’s Day, we are bombarded with images of mothers and exhortations to call your mom, send her flowers, do something nice for her.

In our congregations, there is a Mother’s Day celebration, usually with flowers and women standing up – and usually, the well-meaning worship leader includes as an afterthought “those who mother in other ways” – as though I am not enough of a woman if I am not considered a mother. Now it is true that other kinds of mothers are indeed left out of Mother’s Day – and I am grateful that the Unitarian Universalist Association is taking steps to celebrate Mama’s Day. As they write on their website,

With “Mamas Day,” we hear a call to honor all those who mother, especially those who bear the brunt of hurtful policies or who are weighed down by stigma in our culture. We celebrate trans mamas, immigrant mamas, single mamas, lesbian mamas, young mamas, and others. It’s opportunity to take action to create the conditions so that all families can thrive.

Yes, this is vitally important. We don’t see enough mamas of non-white, non-heteronormative identities and abilities in the Mother’s Day exhortations. We need this Mama’s Day celebration to check privilege and honor all kinds of mothers.

But we do not need to include all women in this celebration.

We do not need to include me.

I am glad there are mamas of many shapes and sizes, colors and actions. I am grateful for those who have mothered me. I am grateful for those who have mothered others. But I am not a mama, nor do I want to be.

What I DO want is to be recognized as whole, as a complete human being with inherent worth and dignity, without needing to take on a role – physically or metaphorically – that is not mine. Now this isn’t to say I’m not nurturing; I believe I am. And it’s not to say I haven’t created some big projects and set some intriguing things in motion. I have. But men do that all the time, and they’re not considered less than whole. Why should I be? Why does my gender require me to be recognized as a mother if I don’t identify as such?

I don’t want to be recognized for something I am not. Don’t make me stand up on May 11th to accept pity and a last minute nod to my existence.

I am not a mama.

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The building of my home congregation is wedged between three worlds: a funeral home, where people bring their grief and mourning; an old home subdivided into a surprising number of small, crowded, but affordable apartments for those who make little in the tourist industry; and an extraordinarily large, recently constructed stone mansion, complete with gatehouse and dog runs, owned by a couple desperate to make their mark in society – going so far as to shop around a reality show about their life to various cable networks. Down one street is an elite college and equally elite neighborhood, a combination of old and new money, and predominantly white. Down another is a poorer neighborhood, where low-income housing and homeless shelters exist in the predominantly minority neighborhood. Down a third is the thoroughbred race track, a symbol of opulence – hiding the oppressive conditions of living quarters for the migrants who are employed by the track (called the backstretch workers).

Depending on the door you look out, you might think the most pressing social justice concern is emotional pain, or income inequality, or immigration, or the war on workers, or homelessness, or racism.

And the truth is, they are all the most pressing social justice concern.

At General Assembly 2013 in Louisville, I attended a workshop by Rev. Beth Ellen Cooper entitled “Occupy Your Faith.” Rev. Cooper spoke about ways to make our faith real and active; like the Occupy movement, she said, our faith isn’t anarchical; rather, it is immediate and active, not an idea with manifestos and declarations. The call isn’t to declare what issue we want to tackle, but to get out there and tackle it. She challenged us to consider “who is our neighbor, and what is their pain?”

Since General Assembly, I have been thinking about this charge, and have been challenged by it. At Union Theological Seminary, we are in a beautiful, upper class institution, on the edge of Harlem – between the opulence of Columbia University and the struggles of 125th Street, between comfortable middle class apartments and people sleeping on benches in Riverside Park. And that’s just our neighborhood; inside the ‘castle’ we have people and organizations who speak about and work toward justice in a variety of areas – from the Poverty Initiative to the Edible Churchyard, from the Black and Latin@ Caucuses to the Institute for Women, Religion, and Globalization, and more – each group speaking loudly about the call to action our faith demands. Every issue is important. Every concern is vital to people’s lives. Every injustice – to people and to the earth – requires full and immediate attention.

And the call is clear; as Frederick Buechner writes, “There can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you too.”

The call is clear: as Rabbie Arthur Waskow wrote in The Freedom Seder[1]:

For if we were to end a single genocide but not to stop the other wars that kill men and women as we sit here, it would not be sufficient; If we were to end those bloody wars but not disarm the nations of the weapons that could destroy all mankind, it would not be sufficient;

If we were to disarm the nations but not to end the brutality with which the police attack black people in some countries, brown people in others;

Moslems in some countries, Hindus in other; Baptists in some countries, atheists in others; Communists in some countries, conservatives in others—it would not be sufficient;

If we were to end outright police brutality but not prevent some people from wallowing in luxury while others starved, it would not be sufficient;

If we were to make sure that no one starved but were not to free the daring poets from their jails, it would not be sufficient; If we were to free the poets from their jails but to train the minds of people so that they could not understand the poets, it would not be sufficient;

If we educated all men and women to understand the free creative poets but forbade them to explore their own inner ecstasies, it would not be sufficient; If we allowed men and women to explore their inner ecstasies but would not allow them to love one another and share in the human fraternity, it would not be sufficient.

How much then are we in duty bound to struggle, work, share, give, think, plan, feel, organize, sit-in, speak out, hope, and be on behalf of Mankind!

The call is clear. And it is enough to paralyze a person. The list of injustices is so overwhelming , we can be paralyzed in deep anguish so we can’t even register the thousands of ways, big and small, our world is hurting. As Rebecca Parker says in Blessing the World, “our despair keeps us from being able to see.”

So what can I do? How can I engage every social justice concern in my ministry, knowing that alone I cannot solve every problem, knowing that every problem is dependent upon every other problem? It goes back to Rev. Cooper’s challenge: Who is my neighbor, and what is their pain?

As I leave New York City for the warmth of Key West, Florida, and my ministerial internship at One Island Family, I know my first step is to learn who my neighbor is. I already know there are issues of homelessness in Key West, as well as a similar question of income inequality in a tourist town. I already know people come to Key West for a variety of reasons, but that one of those is escape from personal pain. But that’s just what I know from some discussions with Rev. Dr. Randy Becker and a short visit in March. I imagine that in Key West – much like any location I find myself in – the first months will be exegeting the community and learning who these people are and what they face.

The second step, of course, is action. How can I help ease their burdens? And how can the congregations and communities I find myself in help others? We don’t have to take on large tasks – I think of Bishop Desmond Tutu’s comment that “the good news to a hungry person is bread.” If we can offer food to someone who is hungry, or a roof to someone who is homeless, or child care to someone who needs help in order to work, or medicine to someone who is sick, then we should do that first. The letters to politicians, the marches and protests, the large fundraising efforts – those are important too. As Margaret Mead rightly said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

Our most pressing social justice concern is the one in front of us – we fail as ministers if we do not act.

 
  [1] https://theshalomcenter.org/sites/default/files/freedomseder.pdf