Donald Trump: Questions on Rhetoric & Violence

I'm one of those people concerned about Donald Trump's suggestive comment about "Second Amendment people" and Secretary Clinton. There is a difference between saying something suggestive and suggesting something. The difference is important, but not the entire story.

We cannot be entirely responsible for how we are heard/interpreted/received. But we should not be irresponsible, and we definitely hold some responsibility when we know how we might be heard. If you laugh at your kid for doing something--swearing, yelling "no"--then you can expect they will do it again, especially when you don't want them to. You were being just as irresponsible as your child.

Did Trump suggest people threaten or use force against Secretary Clinton? No, of course not. But that doesn't make his suggestion OK.

And it is incredibly important at this moment to views of rhetoric and history. When do you think a person's language has incited action and what about a person's language will incite action?

You cannot rightly say Islam is violent, but assert Christianity isn't. You cannot say Black Lives Matter is a hate group, but Donald Trump isn't a hateful, racist person. Can you even rightly say a preacher or book or song moved you to action and tears, but Trump's words today will not move someone to attempt violence?

“By the way, and if she gets to pick her judges, nothing you can do, folks. Although the Second Amendment people, maybe there is, I don’t know. But I’ll tell you what, that will be a horrible day.” --Donald J. Trump 

Relevant questions to ask yourself:

Did Sarah Palin's crosshairs & her comment to "reload" cause Gabrielle Gifford's assault?

http://www.thewire.com/politics/2011/01/did-sarah-palin-s-target-map-play-role-in-giffords-shooting/21575/

Did the Black Lives Matter Movement cause the police shootings in Texas and Louisiana?

http://www.cnn.com/2016/07/18/us/wisconsin-sheriff-david-clarke-i-predicted-this/

(On the flip side, does Sheriff Clarke's statements about Black Lives Matter promote more anti-cop and anti-black sentiment? And when does "predicting" actually imply you were right?)

Does Christianity cause violence in abortion clinics?

http://mobile.reuters.com/article/idUSKCN0X9068

Does Sharia Law cause violence in the name of Islam?

http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/us_57a55232e4b0ccb0237254a4

And here is another: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sharia#Criticism

Let's remember that texts are interpreted. Christian texts are super violent throughout the ages. They are no more solely responsible for Nazism and the Atlantic slave trade than Islam is for terrorism. (Which isn't to say these religions, their texts, their theologies, and their adherents aren't devoid of responsibility.)

A Secret Service Agent's Microaggression

Vice President Biden visited my office today. He came for an exciting event, about which I will say little. I want neither the event nor his visit tied to what I am about to highlight. For context, just know that a presentation was made to VP Biden and then, after a brief hiatus, he returned for a group picture.

As we waited for him to return for the picture, we stood picture ready, by which I mean so close that a wrong move put your butt into someone else’s hand. One secret service agent stood century over us as we watched the hubbub on the other side of the glass door that separated us from the hall and wherever the Vice President was located. Another secret service agent with a prominent mustache came in, and asked if we were warned to avoid doing anything silly. He then told us that something silly might be asking for the Vice President’s autograph. If we did that, then the agent’s mustache, he said, would jump from his face and attack us. We all laughed. It wasn’t the first time that day we were told to behave or be tackled. It was funny for this large, intimidating man to jest at the part of his appearance we all noticed immediately before or after his stature.

Mustachioed Agent enjoyed the response from the crowd, and continued his routine. Fueled by our laughter, he told us that thrusting an item at the Vice President would upset the agent’s boss. This true statement set us up for the next punchline. Surprised that this intimidating man is not the boss, that there is someone bigger, badder, and scarier, Mustachioed Agent tells us his boss is big—which means something coming from this already strong man—and black.

And black.

His boss is big and black, which context implies scarier than small and black or big and white. I don’t remember if there was laughter at this point. For a brief moment, I have no memory of what was going on around me, because I was aghast and confused. I didn’t know what to do, how to react. I couldn’t just tell this scary government agent that his boss’s race has nothing to do with how intimidating he is. I muttered, just louder than sotto voce, but still loud enough for those near me to hear, “I don’t know what his race has to do with anything.” I looked around as I said it, yearning for affirmation that someone else heard it, that someone else was nonplussed. But I received no such affirmation.

With nothing else to do, I continued standing, picture ready. When the Vice President came in for the picture, he told us a story, mentioning his first run for congress was on the civil rights platform. More smiles and laughter ensued before the Vice President left. Once he was gone and I returned to my desk, I tweeted Mustachioed Agent’s joke promptly. A little later, I shared one of the group pictures on Facebook. Again, I mentioned the joke. In both instances, I considered also mentioning the racial comment. The racist comment? Perhaps Mustachioed Agent was using a stereotype in his rhetoric to enforce the seriousness of his statement: nonblack people in the USA tend to be more afraid of black people than other people (with the possible exception of people who “look Muslim”). But I think he thinks black people are generally scarier than white people, especially black men. 

Mustachioed Agent might have black friends and family; he doesn't think all black men are scary. I am saying he generalizes. If two equally anonymous men of equal size are presented, Mustachioed Agent will be more suspicious of the black one. If both of these men reach in their respective coat pockets when the Vice President approaches, he is more likely to suspect the black man of doing something nefarious. This is what tends to be called a microagression, by the way. Overt racism would be someone saying black people are scary; a microagression is when someone doesn’t realize they think it, but their thoughts still bleed into their daily thoughts, actions, and discourse. Although a microagression seems to denote a “small aggression,” it can have a big impact, especially if someone is fearing for their life or the life of the Vice President of the United States of America. 

How can I trust a man to be responsible with his trigger finger when he erroneously attributes intimidation to a man due to his skin color? How can I trust him, when I have trouble trusting my intentions for writing this post? Upon reflection, I am comfortable with my intentions, but I realize there is a fine line between wanting to expose and wanting to be recognized for an exposition, between telling a story and assuming your the main character of a story.

Re-reading the story and realizing it isn't about is important. It is good when you realize you are neither hero nor villain. Perhaps even now I am magnifying myself too much. Still, it is this questioning that I hope the main character of this story does.

A Nearly Jargon-Free Easter Reflection Against "Substitutionary Atonement"

Easter isn't easy for someone who doesn't believe in what theologians call "substitutionary atonement." Most Easter-related festivities ("Holy Week") tend to focus on this concept. To cut to the chase and through the jargon, I neither think Jesus died for my sins nor do think Jesus had to die an untimely death.

To continue with simplicity: I disagree with the parts of the Bible that support substitutionary atonement (emphasis on "parts of the Bible," because the Bible does not portray one unifying worldview--"biblical theology" is a myth). I think a God who requires death before forgiveness is a sadistic God. How many times in the Bible does God forgive sins without death (or, for that matter, without a profession of faith)? Consider the story of Jonah for merely one example. Yes, I know my "Romans Road"; Paul says "for the wages of sin is death." Jesus's death does not prevent me from physical death, and if I am going to believe in a God, I am going to believe in one powerful and loving enough that this God is not bound by some wild notion that every sin is reasonably punishable by death.

Although my Easter experiences are continually bombarded with the inculcation of this oppressive belief, I still love the significance of this holiday. Jesus's death is still holy: he was a martyr for his countercultural "Judaism" that, at times, threatened the oppressive Roman regime and its opulence that was constructed on the backs of the poor. (I place "Judaism" in scare quotes, because Jesus's nationality and ethnicity were so wrapped up in his experience of his religion that they were inseparable and not really contained but how we understand Judaism, religion, or faith today. But neither does Judaism, faith, religion, or Israelite-ness really do it justice. However, I do want to emphasize the continuity between Jesus and modern-day Judaism.) That sort of practice and dedication is just  as admirable, as the crucifixion is heinous. The cross reminds me of the evils of capitalism, cultural tyranny and the price of true justice.

Ah, but the price of true (social) justice is also its reward. Jesus died, but then there is the symbol of resurrection. Jesus lives on through those who follow his example. He is not dead, but alive in all movements for good. It would have been better if Jesus had died a natural death, but his untimely death will not be left in vain.

Substitutionary atonement was one way the Jewish and Gentile followers of Jesus could understand the death of Jesus. It is not the only way. One can also see Jesus's death as an injustice, and his resurrection as a call to be the resurrection: to continue social justice at all costs. And for that reason, I celebrate Easter and say with may others across the world, regardless of what they mean by the litany:

He is risen.
He is risen, indeed.

An Attempt at a Wedding Ceremony with Less Privilege

Weddings reek of privilege. They are filled with sexist images and they are, for now, a heterosexual privilege. It was important for my partner and I to have a ceremony that toned down the privilege a bit. Finding one wasn't easy, so I wrote one. Since we are both steeped in Christian imagery, our ceremony still uses a lot of God and biblical references.  I have shared it below.

Invocation

Trevar: Love comes from God. Everyone who truly loves is a child of God. Let us honor God in this ceremony of love.

Dear Friends, we have come together to share love and joy. God gives human love. Through that love, two persons come to know each other with mutual care and companionship. God gives joy. Through that joy, they may share their new life with others as Jesus shared new wine at the wedding in Cana. With your love and prayers, we are drinking that new wine today.

In this welcome and invocation, Sherry and I want to share a sorrow hidden within our love. Although love is a thing to celebrate, many adults are prohibited from such celebrations. Two consenting adults who love and commit to each other should be allowed to join themselves and their families in such a happy celebration as this. 

Love comes from God. Everyone who truly loves is a child of God. Sherry now lights a candle that burns with our love not only for each other, but also for our desire for justice, for equality, and for love itself.

And now, as we pray, I am going to read a prayer a friend wrote for this occasion.

Loving God

Thank you for the love that you have created between Sherry and Trevar. As we look on this love, we see your hand in its intricate design, its deep formation. We look at them loving each other  and we experience the kind of divine wonder we feel when we behold natural beauty: a sunset  over the mountains, the expanse of the ocean, a new song by the neighborhood mockingbird. We  are brought to our knees by the magnificence of it, and we are grateful.  In seeing how Sherry and Trevar love each other, we are reminded of your complete love for us.  The way you give to us abundantly, joyfully. The way you laugh when we laugh and cry when we  cry. The way you indulge our need for second chances, and third ones. You love us in our  brokenness. You love us in our foolishness. You love us like crazy.  We praise you God, that Sherry and Trevar, by loving each other like you love us, have called us  back into your embrace. We feel at home here. We feel at peace. We feel loved. May the home that Sherry and Trevar build together always be one that radiates the peace and  love that they feel in this moment. May their marriage surprise them with fresh joy and  encourage them with lasting hope. And may their love, so vibrant now, grow ever more so day by love-filled day. God in your mercy, Hear my prayer. Amen.

Declaration of Intent 

Rev. Ingram: Before all present, I ask you to affirm your willingness to enter this covenant of marriage and to share all the joys and sorrows of this new relationship, whatever the future may hold.

Trevar, will you enter into the covenant of marriage with my daughter, and will you love her faithfully as long as you both shall live?

Trevar: I will

Sherry, will you enter into the covenant of marriage with Trevar, and will you love him faithfully as long as you both shall live?

Sherry: I will.

Addressing congregation:

Dear friends gathered today, do you pledge your support and encouragement to the covenant commitment that Sherry and Trevar are making together? If so, please say, "We do."

Congregation: We do.

Exchange of Vows

With everyone's intentions declared, I invite Sherry and Trevar to exchange their written vows.

Trevar: My dearest Sherry Rose, you know I don't like to make things simple, and these vows are no different. I am leery of making promises, because I make mistakes, and I am inconsistent. But there so much I want to promise you. So much I want to promise you, but so many things that could happen that could change me, or change you, or change us. I cannot promise consistency in myself or in our relationship, but I can promise you that I love you. And, 'I love you' is a vow in and of itself: a vow to try, to work to make things work despite our mistakes and struggles, to experiment on new things when life needs to change, to live as if I am not an independent person, but partaking in interdependence with you. I vow to try, Sherry Roselyn Ingram. I vow to try to honor the name that we will share as we share our lives together. I love you, and that's a promise.

Sherry: Trevar, who would have known that on this day exactly seven years ago, when you walked into my office to interview for a job, that we would be standing here, committing our lives to each other? I remember you being the quiet guy who overwhelmed me with his intellect. I recall you saying that you were intimidated by me because I was your supervisor's supervisor. I am so glad that we moved past that and capitalized on moments to get to know each other. I guess you can say that we've gotten some practice in being married, as we played a married couple during two murder-mystery dinners. We foreshadowed that we would live in Chicago by singing "Baby, It's Cold Outside" during a Residence Life talent show. From our hike in Birmingham at the waterfall, which is when I started falling for you, during the time that I was physically sick while visiting you (and you took great care of me), to our road trip and Caribbean cruise, through our long-distance relationship, and our individual moves to Chicago, it delights me that it's you who has been a part of my life, and I promise from this day forward, that you will never walk alone. You are my everything. You make me feel loved, wanted, secure, heard, adored, beautiful, and cared for, not only with your words, but in your actions. I love your passion for social justice causes, equality, your nonjudgmental attitude, your ability to see the good in everyone, your humor, how comfortable I am around you, and the things you say when you say nothing at all. I've grown to love Futurama, and I promise to watch episodes with you for days to come. In turn, I hope you don't become too mad at President Fitzgerald Grant and stop watching Scandal with me. Although it embarrasses me sometimes, I love that you are not ashamed to proclaim your love for me with your public gestures. It shows me how much you really care. Thanks for putting up with my Type A personality and my perfectionist ways, especially during the wedding planning process. In our hearts, we already feel married and today marks the day when we become official partners for life. I promise that in good times, I'm going to celebrate with you. In sad times, I'm going to cry with you. And in uncertain times, I'm going to hold you. I give you my heart. My heart will be your shelter, and my arms will be your home. Loving someone is a choice, and in front of family and friends, I am declaring that I am choosing to love you, unconditionally, today and always. I love you.

Exchange of Rings

To seal the vows just exchanged, you shall now exchange rings. 

Trevar, please place the ring on your beloved's finger and repeat after me: "Let this ring around your finger be as my love around your heart."

Sherry, please place the ring on your beloved's finger and repeat after me: "Let this ring around your finger be as my love around your heart."

Hand Fasting

Trevar, take Sherry's right hand into your right hand. You have blessed each other and everyone here today with the blessings you have received. Your love overflows into the display of love that we enjoy in this ceremony and the food and fun of the reception tomorrow. May your commitments to each other stand forever, and may your love continually overflow and bless those around you. 

Sherry, take Trevar's left hand into your left hand. May your hands with the rings upon them continually work together to show love unto others. And may your left hands together not even know what your right hands are doing, as Jesus said in his Sermon on the Mount.

Wrap the tie around the joined hands.

With the seals of love upon your hands, we emphasize this union in the fasting of your hands, which represents how firmly fixed you two are to each other. As your hands are joined, so are your whole beings. Let the bind never be cut asunder.

The knot is not tied by any human material, but by your public vows of love in this place. You hold in your own hands the making or breaking of this union. Your union will not always be easy, so keep the knot between your hearts faster than the tie that now binds your hands.

Communion

As the final symbol of your union, you two will now join in remembering how Jesus personified sacrifice and unity in his life and death.

As you eat of this bread, think not only of Jesus's body, broken for all, but also of the bread left over when Jesus fed the multitude. Like Jesus, if you two give yourselves to each other and together give yourselves to those around you, there will always and miraculously be more and more to give.

As you drink of this chalice give to Trevar by his grandfather, think of how Jesus wanted his followers to be one as he was one with God. As you drink of the cup, you not only strive for unity with God and with each other, but with unity of all who have been, are, and will be invited to drink of this cup. Be one as Jesus and God are one, as all humanity is one, and as two adults who love each other should be one.

Pronouncement of Marriage

It is with great pleasure that I pronounce before God and everyone here today that you are now married: woman and husband, man and wife. Please place a final seal upon your union with a kiss.

The kiss.

Behold, give thanks, and, please, remain in your seats, as my daughter and son-in-law, Trevar and Sherry Simmons, recess through the aisle.

On Love and God and Ambiguity

In a phone interview the other week, I was asked how I work with ambiguity. Ever the nerd, I began my response by saying something quite brief about postmodernism and then delving into ambiguity and my professional life, since that was the reason for their question.

Even if one has progressed far in divine things, one is never nearer the truth than when one understands that those things still remain to be discovered. He who believes he has attained the goal, far from finding what he seeks, falls by the wayside.
--St. Leo the Great, quoted in Peter Rollins, How (Not) To Speak Of God

After reading the above words, I thought about how this statement is true not just in divine things, but in things in general, if the two are discernibly or meaningful separate. This morning I think especially of love, which is certainly a divine thing if not the divine thing. I don't think love or God is something we can entirely attain and, as St. Leo the Great says, remains in ambiguity as much as, if not more than, it is understood and felt. 

Love and God are areas in which we must always seek for more understanding from new experiences, create more meaning in community and solidarity, and give away all that we know and learn. The more we attain, the less we can retain as the newness gives way to complete and utter newness of comprehension and experience as much as it builds on that which came before. Love and God are not impossible in this sense, but always ambiguous and never fully achieved. There is always more understanding, new experiences, meaningful and innovative creations, and leftover bread and fish when all is given away for in order to find ourselves, we must lose ourselves. And what is the pursuit of God and love if not the pursuit of ourselves, of ipseity and community, if there is a discernible or meaningful difference between the two?

Futurama's Knight of Faith ... Against W. K. Clifford & Derrida?

You can't lose hope when it's hopeless. You gotta hope more, then put your fingers in your ears and go, "Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah!... "
- Philip J. Fry

Futurama channeled Kierkegaard's knight of faith in this quote. The knight of faith has faith for the impossible, has faith when there should be no faith. This knight hopes for that which is hopeless--life from something dead, love from the unrequited, and sense and reality from the nonsensical. No matter how progressive and reasonable your faith/religion/spirituality is, at some level you are not only putting your fingers in your ears, but also screaming against contradicting noise. We are the knight of faith and the child incessantly saying, "I'm not listening!"

The difference--OK, a difference--between Kierkegaard and Futurama is that Kierkegaard romanticizes this hope against hope by calling it a knight. Kierkegaard says it is admirable to cover up your ears and refuse to listen to reason or any reasonable, alternative belief. Futurama appears to make fun of it, pointing out the childish ridiculousness of it. But in the episode, Fry's hope wins out. Futurama was very careful to ridicule the faith while also saying that either coincidence or providence could award the knight of faith (in the episode, coincidence and providence work together, perhaps).

Kierkegaard ennobles faith and Futurama remains conspicuously ambiguous. W. K. Clifford calls it unethical, saying that "sincerity of conviction" isn't enough. For Clifford, we need to have "evidence" and some sort of reason to believe. And here comes an essential question: Is reason contrary to faith and vice versa?

On the hand, I must say yes. Faith steps in where reason cannot tread. Yet, many "faith journeys" are guided and influenced by reason, at least, on some level. Once one takes that "leap of faith," reason can guide the rest of belief. It seems, reason and faith are not completely contrary.

I want to say one is more primary than the other. Of course, to say so would be more of desire than reason. And yet, to deny it due to reason would be to assume the primacy of reason. I assume the primacy of reason--I have faith in reason, because I assume it is a valid basis for belief formation.

Enter deconstruction. Of course, Trevar mentioned deconstruction. Deconstruction uses reason against itself. On the one hand we have hope against hope and, on the other, reason against reason. With deconstruction, I don't get rid of reason, but rather realize its limitations. I understand reason has boundaries. I understand faith is, at is base, unreasonable and, possibly--nay, likely--ridiculous. 

But faith is inevitable. Reason is, too, even though I think some people have managed to avoid it. We all take faith at different points and reason at different points. Perhaps it is more reasonable to shoo faith to certain places, but only because I have faith that this sort of reason is right, that there are levels of reasonable investigation into faith and reason that are responsible and levels that are irresponsible, like a diet version of Clifford's view, because it is healthier for you. 

In the end, it is health that I wish for, not right and wrong--love over impossibly definable veracity.

Why We Read, Write, And Teach Literature

One of my adult students recently lost his grandmother. The first night he returned to class, I overheard him talking to another student about his time in the hospital. He said that in his grandmother's last moments, all he could think about was the carriage ride in Emily Dickinson's "Because I could not stop for Death." Thinking about that poem helped him cope with those last moments.

That is why we read, write, and teach literature. It doesn't always help, and the same literature isn't going to help all of us. Reading, writing, and teaching isn't going to make anything better or lighten something heavy, but it may help us cope as we carry a burden--either helping us make meaning where there is none or live with meaninglessness. As Joan Didion writes, "[For Ramon Novarro,] Writing had helped him, he said, to 'reflect on experience and see what it means.' [...] but writing has not yet helped me to see what it means"(48, The White Album).

For me, in personal tragedy or in larger tragedies such as the explosions in Boston today, I often look for help in the opening lines of Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking:

Life changes fast.
Life changes in the instant.
You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.
The question of self-pity.

For my student, in the death of his grandmother, it was "Because I could not stop for Death."

Whether movie, television, music, writing, paintings, video game, or other art or "text," what has it been that has helped you?

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality. 

We slowly drove –
He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too, 

For His Civility –
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –  

Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –  

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –  

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
 first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –

Easter Reflections: 1 Corinthians 15 & Derrida Working Towards Equality

"Tomorrow is the shadow and reflexibility of our hands."
--Reb Derissa, "Ellipsis," Writing and Difference

But now Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who are asleep. For since by a human came death, by a human also came the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ all will be made alive. But each in his own order: Christ the first fruits, after that those are are Christ's at his coming, then comes the end, when he hands over the kingdom to the God and Father, when he has abolished all rule and all authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy that will be abolished is death.
1 Corinthians 15:20-26

According to Paul, today--Easter--is about tomorrow. First fruits are a tithe or tax of sorts, a compulsory giving of produce to feed the priests and their families. Whether or not literally the first crops to be reaped, the crops are given to God first (or a deity, since the first-fruit offering is not distinctively Israelite), then to the farmer (see the Catholic Encyclopedia & Wikipedia for nice overviews).

Paul says Jesus is the tax of the dead, says people created death and resurrection (vv. 20-21). Since humanity "grew" both (to keep the agricultural metaphor) then the first fruits of death and resurrection go to God. Now that the tax is paid and the offering given, the rest of the crop--death and resurrection--belongs to humanity.

At least, we--the body of Christ--are working towards taking ownership of death and resurrection. First, Paul maintains that we cannot have the rest of the fruits of resurrection until we get rid of death (see vv.23-26). Paul foresees the tax paid by the dead--the resurrection of us, the body of Christ--as one that must work to overcome death and "[abolish] all rule and all authority and power" (15:24). To abandon what Paul envisioned, this moment is "the end," when the kingdom is handed over to God and becomes what Philip Pullman describes as the "republic of God" (The Amber Spyglass), that moment where we are all equal, all truly the body of Christ, all God, and all Love, whatever exactly that means.

Easter, according to Paul, is the beginning of that end and we are the means. The tax has been paid and now we have to continue working and reaping the rest of the fruits, i.e., more death while fighting against it. Looking at technology and medicine, we are doing a great job. Looking at oppression, greed, and poverty, we are not doing so well. That's the shadow of our hands that Derrida describes under the pseudonym Reb Derissa. Much of what we see in this world is our fault, but not all. Systemic evil is our fault, hurricanes and tornados is not so much our fault, unless influenced by how we treat the environment. Whatever we do today is shadowed by the good and the bad we do today.

And that shadow affects what we do tomorrow, sometimes inspiring more bad, more good, or, often, the choice to ignore what was done yesterday, what is done today, and what will be done tomorrow. This is where our hands have reflxibility. Our hands not only mirror each other from left to right but from today to tomorrow. Our actions today mirror and have mutually influential relationships with our actions tomorrow. I will do such-and-such tomorrow, so I will do such-and-such today. I will workout tomorrow, so I will have pie today. I will buy this product today, because tomorrow they will give a percentage of the money to fight the slavery they employ to make the product. I do not want to talk to this person, because I am afraid they will eventually hurt me.

This reflexibility is frightening and powerful. The reflexibility itself influences us, sometimes inspiring, sometimes immobilizing us. Easter reminds me to be thoughtful and reflective in my actions today and my plans for tomorrow. I want to foresee the end of authority, power, and rule in a way I doubt Paul did, I want to see it as radical equality. 

Much of the theology surrounding Jesus embodies that radical equality: God becomes one of us and dies like one of us (thanks, Joan Osborne). To get a little preachy, now we need to become like God and resurrect in and by our hands the love that Jesus as Christ represents. If we can do so today, then it will influence what I do tomorrow, which will influence what I do today, and the shadow of my hands today will illuminate instead of darken tomorrow.

He is risen, the first fruits. Now we must rise.

Good Riddance to Good Friday

Today, I am uncomfortable with the term "Good Friday."

"Good Friday" has varied etymological accounts. Since I'm not a philologist, I can't argue for or against any of these explanations. Besides, what a word or phrase meant doesn't change what it means today.

Not based on any serious study, but rather on my experiences and a brief perusal of the internet, today, the "good" of "Good Friday" mostly connotes how good it is that God sent "his" to pay the wages of sin: death. Let's also note that according to this line of reason, God set these wages and apparently never decided to give a increase or decrease to the wages. However, God accepts substitutes: animals and Jesus.

I won't get into the intricacies of sacrifices in Ancient Near Eastern culture or biblical references to further elucidate sacrificial, substitutionary atonement. Even at the surface level just described, I am uncomfortable with calling this Friday good. God can change the wages for sin as much as God can set them. Accepting a substitution is a change. Accepting a human instead of an animal is a change. So why the death of man? Why death at all? Human history shows that lessons cannot be taught without death, and death seems like a mighty high price for stealing a piece of gum, cheating on your taxes, punching someone, or eating or drinking to excess.

Even if I could accept calling the death good, why the suffering? Before Jesus, sacrificial animals weren't tortured; they were just killed. Jesus could have had his throat slit instead of being beaten, humiliated, and nailed to a cross. For that matter, Jesus could have died of old age, a heart attack, or some other "natural cause." If a spiritual existence and physical resurrection eons after death is the symbol Christians desire, resurrection could have followed any of those deaths, just like Lazarus's. For that matter, Jesus could have skipped death and ascended into heaven like Elijah, telling his followers, "You may die on this earth, but you'll ascend ages later, like my beloved Lazarus."

Many Christians look at Good Friday and Easter as the only solution to our sins. But if God is a creative God not bound by rules, then there certainly were and, possibly--likely--are other options that God could have made good. To call the cross the only option is tantamount to saying the cross makes this Friday good or saying Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" is a poem about taking "the road less traveled by"--it is giving significance and acting as if the meaning were there all along, as if it were there intentionally.

According to the common interpretation of Good Friday, God chose a terrible option, not a good one. I can be thankful for Easter as a historical reality or as a powerful symbol without calling Friday good in this manner. And so I say, "good riddance" to Good Friday or, at least, the term as commonly understood today. (Again when I say "commonly understood," I am making a huge leap in judgment from my experience to most English speakers' experiences.)

Instead, I echo the words of Meister Eckhart today: "I pray God to rid me of God." How apropos of this Friday, also known as Holy Friday, Black Friday, Long Friday, and, appropriately in the German, Karfreitag, which means Sorrowful or Suffering Friday (credit for these finding these other names goes to about.com and Wikipedia). We remember--not celebrate--the death of a man so holy that he was called the son of God, Christ, and even God. In a sense, today is a day we remember not only God dying, but a way of understanding God dying. We remember disciples who could not understand Jesus being crucified so much so that they were embarrassed and denied Jesus when he was dying and dead. Today of all days is an apt day to sacrifice our understandings of God for and to whatever and/or whoever God really is. For me, today, this Friday is for remembering Jesus' death and waiting for the reality behind that word.

A Benediction

I wish you blessings of significance this Friday, a time of soul searching tomorrow on Holy Saturday, and a time of rebirth and newness this Easter Sunday. I can only hope that freedom will accompany that newness, a freedom in light of the oppression the Hebrews suffered and escaped in Egypt and a freedom from oppression that so many need today.

Remarks Given At My Grandfather's Memorial Service

The below was presented at my grandfather's funerary memorial service on November 5, 2012 in Dowling Park, FL.

Some people follow in the footsteps of their elders. It seems I have somewhat followed in the pulpits of my grandfather, studying theology, preaching, and finally standing at the very pulpit where he collapsed before dying just over 24 hours later.

When I went to college, I practically lived with my grandparents for a while. I remember asking him questions about scripture and theology and when I went off to graduate school, I remember him even coming to me with a few points to discuss. Apropos of that relationship, I think it appropriate for me to share at this funeral-memorial, a scripture with which I struggle. The words are printed in the bulletin, 1 Corinthians 15:55:

"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?"

The victory looks apparent and I know exactly where the sting is. It is in my heart. It is in the first few pews. It is in the hearts and minds of all of us here, all of us who never imagined we had so little time left with him.

In the sermon my grandfather was preaching when he collapsed, he was going to describe this sting-victory problem in an oft-told story about a nonexistent painting. The painting is of a chess match. One of the players has only one piece left, whereas the other, sinister-looking character has the obvious piece-advantage. This fictional painting is entitled, "Checkmate."

But the title of this painting is misleading, because the lone king on the board still has moves left. And I fully believe God's work--love--through my grandfather has not and will not stop at death. The grave has no victory when he lives on in us, in our hearts, our minds, and our memories. The sting is still there, but the grave is robbed of the victory.

That Sounds Just Like My Grandfather: Reflections on His Death

I got to know my grandfather best when I started college. I knew him before, but as a distant figure. He and his wife moved to Florida when I was young. I have two brief memories of them before they left Maine. In one, I remember being at their house and my great-grandmother was there, sitting in a chair in a corner. She wanted a kiss, but I didn't know her and felt scared.

The second was later, I believe. I think they hadn't moved from Maine yet, but maybe they were just visiting for the summer. We were walking to their apartment one summer day. I was in between them, holding their hands, and we were swinging their arms. When we are at their place, I remember thinking their refrigerator was weird, because it was a side-by-side refrigerator and freezer and I had only ever seen a top-freezer unit.

After that, I remember them coming to visit one summer and I didn't recognize them. Although young, I felt bad for not recognizing them and even worse for not feeling comfortable with them.

As I grew older, I began to remember and I would even expect them in the summers. I appreciated the birthday cards and the money inside. I would write thank you letters and make birthday cards for them.

Then when selecting a college, I looked into Palm Beach Atlantic University, which was about 20-30 minutes from my grandparents home in Jupiter, Florida. I became very well acquainted with my grandparents. I practically lived there for my first semester. Their guest room became "my" bedroom. It was still the guest room, of course, but it was often referred to as "Trevah's room." They lived in Florida for over 20 years, but the Maine accent never went away. It'll fo'evah be paht of his chahm in my mind like it is still paht of Joan's.

Like a college student becoming his own individual, I started making friends my own age. Consequently, I was visiting my grandparents less. I had joined the choir at their church, so I would see them every Sunday. I was struggling with faith at the time and I was uncomfortable with some things in that church. I left the church, so I stopped seeing my grandparents every weekend.

I never stopped thinking about them. I never stopped visiting, but the visits became infrequent. They understood that I was developing, I was becoming my own man. I missed them, but I didn't know how to balance multiple relationships that don't travel in the same circle. I still don't.

I don't keep in touch with my parents or brother enough. I don't keep in touch consistently with many friends who don't live close to me. And if I make new friends who don't travel in the same circles, I don't do well giving my time and attention to both groups.

That imbalance has influenced most of my grief since my grandfather died Monday night. Really, it started Sunday night when I heard he collapsed while preaching.

When I started graduate school, things only became worse. When I made friends in Florida, I brought them to visit my grandparents. They met girlfriends, roommates, and other friends. When my friend and roommate Matt and I graduated, they hosted a cookout in our honor and invited his family. "He made me feel like part of the family," Matt recently wrote me.

And when I moved away for graduate school, that imbalance became worse. I sullied what was a great relationship by barely ever contacting them. They, like my parents, wouldn't initiate contact, because they thought they would bother me. Sure, I'm busy. Sure, I'm terrible at returning calls. But I never think someone's call is burdensome. They would never have been a bother. I loved them. I still do. Both of them.

This past year, I was proud to send my grandfather a card for his 84th birthday on September 20th. Not only did I send the card, but I also sent it before his birthday. Usually I'm late, if I send a card at all. I even included a letter this year. He wrote me back "[w]ithout delay," which he said, "expresses my appreciation."

I'm fortunate to have not recycled the letter just yet. The letter is a good memory.

I had plans to call him or write him another letter, telling him about my recent cruise. When I hadn't done it right away, my parents reminded me that I should call. I put it off. Last weekend I was going to write a letter, but I ended up hiking, going to a haunted house, and grading assignments.

I never imagined I would run out of time.

Sunday night I lay in bed trying to sleep, but only regretting. I lay on my back and the tears slipped from my eyes and began to fill my ears. Why didn't I just call? Why didn't I write and send the letter in a timely fashion? Why didn't I assure that he and Joan know I not only love them, but think of them often? Did he feel again like that distant figure he was when I was a child and didn't recognize him?

Funny how we experience mourning. My grandfather died, left behind a large family, including his wife, and I am worried about how he felt about how I felt. 

I am sad that he is gone, but he went in a "good" way. He never wanted to have a prolonged death. He didn't want to be resuscitated. In fact, back in 2004 or 2005, I was the witness who signed a statement saying he didn't want to be kept alive if his quality of life was or would become significantly worse.

He collapsed while preaching Sunday night. He opened his eyes long enough to say that he was doing fine. That sounds just like my grandfather, using his last words to calm people by saying things are OK. He was revived, but not soon enough to prevent brain damage. He passed away in just over 24 hours, dying around 10pm Monday night. His death wasn't a prolonged process. He died while preaching, something I know made him nervous after such a long sabbatical from the pulpit. But he also enjoyed doing it, being involved again. There are certainly worse ways to die.

And what now?

I would like to say that I have learned about the shortness of life and how I will never again waste time in communicating with loved ones. But let's be realistic. For the next few days, weeks, maybe, I'll try to be honest with people about my feelings. Perhaps I'll even make a few more calls, send a few more letters. But it won't last. As my mourning progresses, I'll forget again about how we are not guaranteed more time together. I'll probably remember, occasionally, this lesson, but it cannot stick.

People die all the time. I am aware of my mortality and the mortality of those around me. We are aware, all of us. It doesn't change enough, not for any of us.

How bad, how good, does it need to get?
How many losses? How much regret?
What chain reaction would cause an effect?
Makes you turn around,
Makes you try to explain,
Makes you forgive and forget,
Makes you change?

I don't know the answer to Tracy Chapman's questions. I suppose the answer is different for all of us. Sometimes I wonder if the answer is only temporary for all of us, just as temporary as life. And even if we change--when we change--there is always more to change in life. There is always more to do to make life better for all. Balancing relationships is just one thing I want to do better. Next, how do I balance passions? How do I balance taking care of myself and taking care of others? How do I balance those cares with relationships and my professional life, my professional lives?

Excuse me for getting a little preachy, but I want my grandfather's death to mean more than just the loss of one great man. I will be asking myself questions about change and balance for weeks and months. But I must ask you, what will it take to make you change? Is your balance what you want? Is it what you would have wanted 10 years ago? Is it what you will be pleased with in 10 years? What other changes can you make?

We can always be better. Always. In his letter to me, my grandfather said  he was "reaching for the stars." The tattoo on my left arm has a tree growing for the stars. I tell people the tree is reaching skyward. Every time a tree grows, it gets closer to the sky--it reaches its destination every time it grows. Yet, it always have farther to grow, because the sky is always higher to a tree.

We are like that tree, like my grandfather "reaching for the stars." Every change we make is what we want, but it always requires more change. Tracy Chapman's question will never be fully answered, even when it is addressed. Like my grandfather said in his letter, "That's probably a little over stated but it sounds good when you can't really observe the facts."

Three Looks at Re-Thinking a Popular Leadership Quote by Emerson

"Do not go where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path and leave a trail."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

It was a dank and chilly Thursday morning. Five of my 25 students arrived to class on time. (I am planning a class day themed around punctuality.) I didn't spend much time planning for that day anyways.

Instead of talking about the differences between "affect" and "effect," I wrote the Emerson quote on the board and gave everyone an opportunity to respond in their Day Book. A few more students trickled in while we wrote.

I had no agenda at first. I planned to have them share what they wrote with others, honing their revision and editing skills. But as I thought about the quote more, I decided to try an exercise in critical thinking and analysis. If it flopped, at least I only had a few students criticizing me that day.

Ecocriticism

After hearing some initial thoughts, I asked my class what they think of when they imagine a path. We conjured up images of walking or hiking in the woods. When hiking, you are not supposed to stray from the trail for three reasons: (1) you might get lost, (2) you might get hurt, and (3) you are potentially harming the unadulterated nature you want to see while hiking. An ecological view of Emerson's quote changes the warm and fuzzy feelings it may initially conjure.

Paths are paths for a reason. They are proven to be safe. They get the traveler to the desired destination. They prevent aimless, time-consuming wandering. In the 19th century when Emerson lived, a path might help lead you to town or to a doctor when you didn't have time to get lost or run into a marsh. If you have a destination in mind, you should follow a path. If you want to be a doctor, you best go to medical school instead of making your own path. The only trail you leave will be one of lawsuits and sick people.

Beyond getting where you want to go, environmentalists preach low-impact hiking. The Matador Network suggests you follow the path or paths before you: "Especially when mud puddles or photographs are involved, it's sometimes tempting to wander off the trail. The long term effect is to create new paths that carve up formerly pristine areas. Not only does this look ugly, but it can hurt fragile plants and, over time, denude landscapes. Better to get your shoes a little dirty or sacrifice the perfect photo" ("5 Essential Rules for Low-Impact Hiking").

As the Matador Network notes, one of the points of hiking is the hike itself. So it is with life, too. We take paths to our goals and dreams not only to reach the destination, but so we can grow from the experience on the journey. Straying from the path not only ruins the experience for you, but for those behind you. The many shortcuts towards weight loss have resulted in tons of diets that neither last nor leave people healthy, but people still see the new trail and follow it. The beauty of discipline, changing one's diet, and exercising for health are hard to see through the vanity of weight loss and body images. Straying from the path denudes the landscape and the devalues the journey.

Approaching with New Historicism

Of course, sometimes straying from the path is good. If we only followed in the footsteps of others, we would never see progress. Indeed, we need to stray from the paths of the past in order to establish equality in the land.

Emerson is one of the founders and leaders of transcendentalism, a particularly US American philosophy that believed in the self-reliant individual. This emphasis on the individual helped us see injustice, because humans began not only to value themselves, but also other individuals in and for themselves. The value of the minority grew when each individual is as important as the whole. Emerson and others blazed this paradigm shift in Western thought from top down to bottom up.

Of course, Emerson's path may not have been the only one or the best one. We cannot know, because we live in a world where Emerson took the path he did. By telling people to make their own trails, he is asking them to do what he did, to do like he did. Paradoxically, he is telling them to go where there is no path, which is following the path he created. Essentially, he suggests to follow him by following no one.

Post-structuralist Critical Theory

Like good postmoderns and like people who simply want to hold onto something they enjoy, my students pressed my qualms with Emerson.

One student told me she found the quote inspiring. It encouraged her to be herself and not follow the trends society expected of her. A few students spoke about how they wanted to leave a path for a younger sibling to follow. One was even leaving a trail for an older sibling who returned to college when she enrolled.

At this point, my students confounded my agenda to unpack Emerson's metaphor in a way that makes one a little more uneasy about his advice. I wasn't ready to give up, though, because I reflected on my students. They are at a community college in Alabama, all of them required to take 093 Basic English--a class earning them no credits, but one they must pass in order to enter the core curriculum in English--and the majority of them are people of color. Although I cannot know them by these classifiers alone, they have different advantages and disadvantages than I do and than I had at their age.

I grew up in the northeast, and only qualified for one Federal Pell Grant during my time as an undergraduate student. My parents could even afford to send me to study abroad in Europe for a semester. Instead of taking a prereq class, I was in my college's honors program and I earned merit-based scholarships. Furthermore, I am white. I am white when people see me, I am white when people hear me, and I am white when people read what I write. People will always assume I am white, even when they don't see my skin.

I asked my class, "How much do you think privilege and your personal experiences impact how you read this quote?"

Their faces reflected their attempts to understand my question, so I began to explain privilege. I was thinking about the difference in the paths before Emerson, the paths before me, and the paths before my students. When any of my students, regardless of race, talk about leaving a trail for their siblings, I was wondering what the other options were for their siblings. Drugs? Homelessness? Foreclosure? Increased poverty in a world of increased cost of living? Dead end jobs? Gang association? Disease? Family life with a low, mediocre, or high paying job?

Following and Leading

"What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun." Ecclesiastes 1:9

The writer of Ecclesiastes (Qoheleth) might retract that statement after seeing a cellphone, but Qoheleth is right to assert that we are always following paths set before us, in a sense. Emerson had to follow many philosophical, religious, and economic traditions--paths--in order to come to his ideas of transcendentalism. President Obama might tell Emerson, "You didn't build that," and he would be right. Still, Emerson did found new ground and set a new trail much in the same way technology advances and groundbreaking legislation do.

Like technology and legislation, the trails we leave are not always for the best. Have US Americans emphasized individuality too much? Although the emphasis on the individual helped us recognize the Other, it sometimes helps us ignore the Other so that we can achieve pleasure, like when our clothes and technological devices are made through slave labor. 

One might say we shouldn't follow a path until we have enough time to evaluate the consequences. But we never know where a path truly leads. Robert Frost rightly describes the roads before us in The Road Not Taken. We can see down them only so far (ll. 4-5)--maybe this path leads to being a CEO, a president, or a parent. Then again, so do a multitude of other paths, some not even made yet. Which is best? There is no way to know, because you can only travel one (ll. 11-15). Later we may look back--"Somewhere ages and ages hence" (l. 17) and impose significance and value to the choices we made, the roads we followed, the trails we blazed, but that imposition will be an imposition, not objective truth, which is why Frost describes his imposition in line 20 as being told "with a sigh" (l. 16).

We are left with multiple paths and roads before us. In between, there is some elbow room to blaze our own trails in the sense that we are creating novelty, but not something completely new. Perhaps it isn't a trail we blaze, but rather a unique combination of routes (cf. Frost, l. 14).

Following Emerson's dictum may be good advice, but not for everyone in every situation. For some of us, the paths before us leave a trail that those behind us cannot help but follow, despite how harmful they are (fast food, fundamentalism, hate). Leadership for the sake of leading is not good like Emerson's quote seems to imply. Emerson's quote without context says simply to lead and always lead, not to lead to good results. More important than blazing trails are getting to good destinations and helping others along their journey.

A Confession: I Went To A Gay Bar Last Night ...

I went to a gay bar last night. Or maybe it was a club. A private club. You have to become a member in order to get in, which is how the bar can stay open all night here in Birmingham. I guess I went to a gay club last night.

This post is another one of my confessions. But the confession isn't about me going to a gay bar or my sexuality, although I mention the latter part in this post. The confession is about what happened before I even walked into the bar.

As I was standing in line outside of the bar, a man came by asking, "Would anyone like a tract?"

I said nothing. 

The man wasn't speaking to me, anyways. And he wasn't too near me at the time. I did get mad, though. And eventually, the man was standing right next to me, offering tracts on Christianity and salvation. Or that's my educated guess. And I'm going to be a little pretentious in this post, so let's just go ahead and say that I think my educated guess is a pretty good one in this situation.

I knew it wasn't the time or place to share my thoughts on what he was doing. He was "prepared" to address anything anybody said with stock responses he learned by rote, perhaps with a small addition of wit and on-the-spot, original thinking. Perhaps. I knew nothing I said could change his mind, because he wasn't there to respect anyone, but rather to express the wrongness of their lifestyle without knowing anything about them.

I was with three other people he didn't know. Probably he wouldn't approve of any of the four of us going to any bar that night. Maybe he hands out tracts to people going into any bar. Possible? Sure. Doubtful, though. That man was at that bar, because it was a gay bar and he assumed everyone in my party was gay. At the very least he was wrong about me and right about two in my group. The fourth member has never made a definitive statement about his/her sexuality, so I try not to say s/he is straight, although I assume s/he is. That's what those of us with a privileged identity do.

When he stood right next to me, I began to feel sorry for him. Everyone was ignoring him and he put himself in a no-win situation that he thought would please his god. So I said to him, "I think we're good, man."

My pity was just what he wanted, though. It took a few moments before he could either think of a reply or raise the courage to engage someone he (probably) assumed identified as gay.

"It depends on what you mean by good," he retorted.

At that point, I knew it was useless to respond. I felt worse for the guy than I did in the first place. Who really thinks that sort of cheesy response is the lead in to changing someone's mind and converting them to the way you think? Did he think I would banter with him, see his truth, cry, and repent of ... of what? Repent of being a heterosexual going to a gay bar with a few people who identify as gay and bisexual? Repent of respecting and engaging in loving friendships with people who he thinks are sinners on their way to hell?

I wondered how many times he's read the Bible. I probably have him beat there. How much does he knows about biblical history? I probably have him beat there. How much does he knows about Christian history, theology, and what different Christians believe? I probably have him beat there, too. 

I wonder how a "conversation" with him would have looked? I place "conversation" in quotes, because it is obvious that neither of us would have really listened to each other. Instead, we would have been trying to get the upper hand in a boxing match of words. I don't like that sort of back-and-forth, so I ignored him.

But I wonder how such a conversation would have impacted those around me. I consider myself an ally with the GLBTQ community, although I'm not as much of an advocate as I would like to believe. I know discussion was not possible with that man, but I wonder if a discussion/argument with him would have been encouraging or annoying to the people around me. Would I have embarrassed my friends? Would other people have got involved? Would I have been asked to leave for causing a scene? Would I have got frustrated and gone inside for my Jack and diet? Would he have got flustered and left? Would there have been a winner? Would people around me have thought, albeit briefly, that some Christians are worth getting to know? Would anyone have thought I was a Christian? Do I think I am a Christian?

A confession: I went to a gay bar last night. I was offered a tract and all I could say was a circumlocution for "no thanks." I wonder what Jesus would have done. What would you have done? What do you think about what I did?

I'm Open-Minded & I Vehemently Disagree With You

"Open-minded" is one term in a slew of identifying terms. As with any identifier, the term means many things, probably too many. An excess of meaning is tantamount to a paucity or complete lack of meaning. I am going to parse out what being open-minded means to me, balancing positive descriptions ("it is" statements) with negative ones ("it is not" statements).

When I identify as open-minded, I am doing so, because I perceive my beliefs and philosophies to be open to criticism and construction from within and without. The obvious metaphor here is a door. When an opinion dissents from mine, I keep the door of my mind open to that view.

Just because a visitor arrives, doesn't mean they will stay. Intellectual hospitality necessitates temporariness in some situations. To let any and all differences take residency would result in logical contradictions. Open-mindedness exists within the realm of logic and sense. I am open to listening to your views and I hope my interaction with your position to be mutually beneficial, but I may disagree with you in the beginning and in the end.

Some disagreements are simple matters of taste and opinion. Some disagreements are more significant, but without negative impact on anyone. Broadly speaking, theism and atheism are in this category. Before getting into the various permutations of theism and atheism, neither of these view points necessitate a negative impact on society or a lack of ability to collaborate for mutual growth of individuals, communities, and the environment at large.

Some beliefs hurt people. Anti-semitism is such a view. Racism is such a belief-system. Eurocentric, androcentric, and heterosexist positions are further examples of hurtful biases.

As with any other identifier, it isn't always true. Christians aren't always Christ-like. Libertarians enjoy some areas in which the government is involved. Heterosexuals have crushes on and enjoy physical contact with people of the same sex. People who identify themselves with a cultural definition of "masculine" have "feminine" sides.

Similarly, I am open-minded, but my mind is not open to somethings like anti-semitism, racism, eurocentrism, chauvinism, and heterosexism. I still can benefit from other views people in these groups hold, but I cannot imagine ever accepting their positions on equality. I think I listen to their beliefs, especially since I used to hold some of them. But from everything I've heard, they have nothing new to say. It is just the same old, misguided song and dance. I hear from them what they hear from me and neither of us do a great job at listening to each other.

Not only are they not saying anything new, but also they are hurting people. Just like open-mindedness does not mean being open to a slave trade based on race, sex, or economic status, neither does it mean being open to oppression.

In fact, it is precisely because of my open mind that I am against oppression. My open mind means I am for love, for love and reason brought me to an open mind. It would be outrageous and nonsensical to have an open-mind based on love and reason, but then be OK oppression and oppressive beliefs, to sit idly by while people are being actively hurt and discriminated. It is for this reason that I have dedicated my life (currently) to providing opportunities for college students to open up their minds: to do my part in fighting oppression and discrimination by influencing the development of college students.

I will continue to identify myself as open-minded, because I am. But I am certainly closed off to oppressive ideologies, because that is where the identifier falls apart, where it (self) deconstructs, because open-mindedness is built upon "closedness." (Get ready for my cheesy closing statement.) The open door defined by the closed, operating on the hinges of love and reason.

I Think You're Wrong, But I Don't Know How To Feel About Your Wrongness

I just read a blog post by Rachel Held Evans that conjured an image in my mind of Jesus singing, "Come together, right now, over me." I love the idea of Jesus singing the Beatles. The post challenged me, which is true to my generally ambivalent feelings about Evans. I like her, but I dislike liking her for three reasons:

First, because I didn't expect to like her. Sometimes "moderate" Christians (for lack of a better term) annoy me. I don't have a problem with moderates, per se, but I don't like how well they can blend in. I want them to be easier to spot.

Second, I don't like that Evans is popular. Simply put, I'm jealous.

Third, I don't like how likable she is. First I just read some of her blogs. Then I started following her on the Twitter. Before I knew it, I wanted to be her friend. How did she do that? Of course, she's a popular blogger and a print author, so the chances of me being her friend are slim. Really, the best part of being her friend would be that we could dialogue about her thoughts. Sometimes I don't want to ask questions to somebody's blog, I want to offer a dissenting, contrasting, or similar opinion and see what they think. Questions are more likely to get responses though. Even then, she can't answer every question. And what if I make a stupid typo or, just as likely, a stupid sentence or twenty? I don't want her dismissing me as much as I would dismiss me if I read my own comments.

Nonetheless, I follow her on Twitter and read a bunch of her posts. And I somehow went off on a jocose tangent before I even got started with the topic for this post.

When I read Evans's post about Christians coming together and working together, I had a hard time imagining it working. I have a pretty good imagination and I'm certainly an idealist, but reality got in the way of my imagination this time. The part of reality that got in the way was me.

If I read her correctly, Evans not only wants everyone to get along, but also to remain themselves. In order for Christians to work together, they need to be together. A lot. It would be a commitment as strong as going to church on Sunday. Although Christians could retain their congregating with their sects, I doubt most could collaborate with others while still meeting separately. 

We're talking here about desegregation. Desegregation requires identity loss. Commingling brings about mutual benefit and mutual change. Desegregation of something as radically diverse as Christianity would mean some people couldn't remain being the type of Christian they are. As one example, Landmark Baptists couldn't desegregate, because they strongly disagree that other Christians are Christians.

I would love the desegregation of Christianity, if the resultant change yielded a Christianity that looked a lot more like me.

I hate myself for saying that. Well, maybe hate is a strong word. And the feelings aren't because I said it, they are because I thought it.

I don't know about you, but when I'm honest with myself, I want some Christians to lose their identity. I want them to change. I want their particular brand of Christianity to cease existing.

For example, I believe in equality of the genders and sexuality. Those who do not agree have what I see as hurtful theo/ideologies. Through inter- & intrfaith dialogue, cohesion, and collaboration, I want people who disagree with me on these issues to change their mind. Sure, I want these conversations to be mutually beneficial. Those who don't agree with me on equality have things to offer, but I am about as ready to budge as a fundamentalist on this issue.

But for some Christian sects, they cannot be who they are and believe in gender and sexual equality. Patriarchy and hetero-privilege is so essential to their identity and it is wrapped up in their view of God, God's revelation, the Bible, ethics, and everything. Giving it up is tantamount to no longer being who they are. Christianity can't just come together without change and a lot of it.

How can I come together if I am like the missionary who wants to convert the heathens? As much as I don't like missions, I sometimes want to be that missionary. I've thought, "Maybe I should go back to church. You can't expect something to change if you're not a part of it. Maybe I should work to change it from within." But I'm not working to be transformed with it if I can't let go of myself first. Jesus said you have to lose yourself to find yourself and, according to the story, Jesus lost his life and found it again afterwards.

But how can I walk into intrafaith dialogue with someone who disagrees with gender equality without the desire to change them? How can I walk comfortably away from that dialogue knowing their beliefs are su/oppressing people?

I despise all of these thoughts. What if somebody actually reads my blog and just read about how much I want them to change, how wrong I think they are, how I think they are hurting people? All of these thoughts go against my faith in dialogue. They go against my understanding of deconstruction (I sure hope I am just missing something here, because I love loving deconstruction). I am dancing dangerously close to being a liberal fundamentalist. I can't even say I'm lacking a better term when I say "liberal fundamentalist." I like to tell myself it isn't fundamentalism, it is passion. But  I am just applying a bromide.

I'd love to end this post with a question, something to prompt you to respond. This post was partly confession, but confession with the desire for help. Perhaps that is the point of confession, not for absolution and forgiveness, but for help, for collaboration, for working together.

Even if I could come up with a good question, I would probably continue acting like someone so often identified as a liberal by talking more than I listen.

An Exercise In Recognizing Privilege: "It's the Bi-ble, Not the Straight-ble," and Other Scenarios

Privilege is something many of us with privilege don't think about enough. I include myself in that category. I'm a white male living in the USA who identifies as Christian and lives above the poverty level. Sure, I could be more privileged, but not much more.

We in privilege often don't realize the oppression and ostracism we insert into the hegemony. I've been thinking recently about how we in privilege would feel if that metaphorical shoe were on the sore foot of the oppressed. Here are some of the scenarios I've imagined we would hear.

"It's the Bi-ble, not the Straight-ble."

Why do some people make their points so ineffectively and rudely? If someone wants to support their beliefs with their religion's traditions and holy texts, they should first make sure they are sharing their beliefs, not arguing. Arguments place everyone involved on the defense and nobody wants to listen to the other person or budge an inch. Arguing makes people believe their beliefs even more than before and without justification. 

This scenario basically is politics today. Democratic and republican politicians "argue" in front of a microphone in front of a ton of people who completely agree with them--the politician is one of the leaders of their party's hegemony--not people who oppose them. The arguments are full of pithy statements like the one I created above and simply make everyone involved believe their argument more, often haughtily looking down on the Other. I presume this is the reason we have bumper stickers and political ads that do nothing other than say something like "Change," "Vote Yes/No on Such and Such," and "Pro-life."

Next, it is important for people in privilege to recognize they understand the world from a point of privilege. Perspective necessarily influences (haunts?), well, perspective. If you've never considered what it is like to be someone else, than you've never truly understood anything.

"It was their choice."

You think being part of the GLBTQ community is a choice? I'm not positive if anyone was born straight or not. What I do know is that nobody chooses their genes or the environment that rears them. I never chose to have a Christian background or to become liberal. I was raised Christian, which included that culture leading me towards a point where I thought I was choosing that religion for myself and so I "asked Jesus into my heart" and, later, was baptized. Did I really choose Jesus, though, or did everything in my rearing convince me that I had chosen him? I still identify as "Christian" today, although I know many Christians won't allow me that term today.

And what about being heterosexual? If everyone is born that way and some people choose something other, when do people make that choice to accept their heterosexuality? I at least feigned a choice with religion, but I never made such a choice concerning my sexuality. Unlike many who think sexuality is a choice, I've actually interacted with people in the GLBTQ community and they don't recall making a choice, either. Instead, I hear stories where individuals simply find themselves sexually attracted to certain people. They simply learn/find out about themselves the same way everyone else does. Heterosexuals find out they especially enjoy people of the same gender, gays and lesbians learn they enjoy the same sex, and bisexual people find out they enjoy both. And often times those who identify heterosexual or gay/lesbian find out they even enjoy some situations involving those who don't fit their general, sexual identification. We are sexual beings first, then we are in a specific sexual community (sometimes).

Finally, if sexuality were a choice, then every heterosexual could choose homosexuality. What heterosexual thinks they can make that choice? That choice includes not only enjoying and preferring sex with the same sex, but also preferring the romantic love and companionship of the same sex over against the opposite. Trying to make that choice is a great exercise in understanding privilege.

"Look at that straight couple holding hands. What they do in the privacy of their bedroom is their own business, but do they have to flaunt it in front of everyone's face?"

What anyone does sexually is their own business, as long as they don't hurt anyone (physically, emotionally, or developmentally), the latter point being why rape and pedophilia are unacceptable. But if one group of lovers can constantly engage in PDA, why not the others? Heterosexual couples are everywhere. They walk down the street and no one looks twice. They're in advertisements and products like condoms and lubricants are even advertised in a way catered to these people's sex life during the day time. Most movies have a heterosexual couple or two prominently featured and anytime a guy sings a song, the person about whom he is singing is assumed to be a woman.

Heterosexuality is everywhere. The GLBTQ community should be able to engage in PDA without people thinking it is "in their face."

"That waitress is so straight. I'm a pretty good straight-tective."

"Gaydar," really? I hope the person who coined that term never felt proud of it. In fact, in the USA today, no one should think they can tell who is GLBTQ by the person's mannerisms or other characteristics and forms of self-expression. Granted, we all make inductive inferences. Stereotypes exist for a reason and, yes, there are certain characteristics that we currently see more often from a gay man than a straight man or a lesbian in comparison to a straight woman. However, even if we haven't personally met people who defy this stereotype, the world, even the media, is ripe with examples of people who destroy this type of induction.

My favorite example is Capt. Stephen Hill. You may remember him from the Republican debate back in September 2011.

This guy fits no GLBTQ stereotype. Just because you correctly infer someone's sexuality a few times or multiple times doesn't mean you have gaydar or, more so, that the GLBTQ community can be correctly stereotyped. At least, no more than any other community. Inductive reasoning's downfall is counterexample.

I would also like to point out that Santorum says sex has no place in the military. That statement is exactly like the previous scenario I imagined, because heterosexuality is in the military everywhere. The men and women in the military can talk about their heterosexual loves all the time. The GLBTQ service members deserve the same freedom. I don't currently believe the military is engaged in fighting for our freedom, but they are available and ready to do so. If people of the GLBTQ community will fight physically for my freedom, then it is our duty to fight for theirs politically.

"I had a straight/white/Christian roommate in college once. It was pretty weird."

As a Student Affairs professional, I feel comfortable saying that the roommate experience is a weird one, regardless of the identification process of your roommate(s). If your roommate is the same gender as you, but part of the GLBTQ community, you should not assume that roommate will want to have sex with you. And even if he or she does, that doesn't mean they are going to act on it or constantly desire it. Lots of heterosexual men have female friends with whom they would have sex or about whom they occasionally fantasize. That's simply how some men are (N.B.: not all men are as horny as many believe they are). However, they don't act on it or necessarily even want it in reality. GLBTQ people are humans, too, and they know when relationships shouldn't involve sex and romance.

I hear a lot of people talk negatively and awkwardly about living with other races and religions, too. Or sometimes they talk about it as if it is the quintessential diversity experience. When someone tells me they had a Muslim friend or roommate, I feel like I'm supposed to be in awe that they managed to navigate living with someone who worships a "different God." Living with a person of color or a person of another religion is really no different than living with a person of the same race, ethnicity, or religion.

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Many other things exist to be said about recognizing our privilege and being more sensitive about it. What statements do you hear a lot that display ignorance of a person's or your own privileged status?