Sermon delivered May 3rd, 2015 at First Parish in Cambridge, Massachusetts
As we move towards summer, and life and love abound, so we kindle the fires of Beltane, spreading warmth and light to all.
Fire is a powerful and primal symbol, often evoked to represent both spiritual energy and sexual passion, two vital elements of human experience often seen as diametrically opposed to one another.
But what if religion and sexuality are not so opposed? What if we heeded the words of Virginia Ramey Mollenkott, and sought to reclaim Eros as a spiritual urge?
It seems fitting that I propose this here, in a Unitarian Universalist church, during the pagan festival of Beltane. Both UUs and contemporary pagans are known for an openness to new ideas, and for challenging conventional wisdom. The Wiccan Rede prescribes: “An it harm none, do what ye will”; while the Charge of the Goddess proclaims: “Behold, all acts of love and pleasure are my rituals.” Yet even heathens and heretics may find ourselves struggling to live up to our own hopeful ideals and vision. Even today, for example, some pagans insist on attributing special significance in their rituals to male and female identities, unaware how they exclude people who don’t fit into the gender binary.
This is but one example of the dualistic mentality we must challenge if we are to embrace the spiritual significance of sexuality. From the earliest days of European civilization, the division of reality into polarized categories – often with one category deemed “superior” to another – is a construction we find ingrained in our thinking and behavior to this very day. Other examples of this hierarchical dualism, specific to our religious traditions, include: God versus Satan, angels versus demons, Heaven versus Hell, saved versus damned, saint versus sinner, orthodox versus heretic, and, of course, spirit versus flesh.
This carries over into our view of sexuality, gender and relationships: male over female, procreation over pleasure, heterosexual monogamous marriage over every other form of loving relationship. Even love itself is dissected and sorted, with a purely “spiritual” agape on top, and eros relegated to the bottom. And while most are quick to blame European Christendom, in fact the roots for this dualism may be found in the ancient cultures of Greece and Rome, and other religious movements like Manicheanism, all of which influenced prominent theologians like Augustine. You may remember the famous prayer attributed to him: “God grant me chastity and continence, but not yet!”
How, then, do we overcome this construct of dualism, and learn to embrace more fully the diversity of our sexualities, gender identities and relationship patterns – queer and straight, monogamous and polyamorous, vanilla and kinky, male, female, genderqueer, intersex, asexual, and more – in unity with the creative spirit of Eros? To meet this challenge, let me suggest that the principles and values of our Unitarian Universalist faith may guide us in this path of transformation.
If we believe in the inherent worth and dignity of every person, then let us affirm in word and deed alike that each of us is deserving of love, joy and pleasure. Sounds easy enough, but how often we forget to affirm this – including for ourselves.
If we believe in justice, equity and compassion, then let us speak out against both discrimination towards sexual and gender minorities of all kinds, and sexual abuse and exploitation; let us further temper our attitudes and actions with compassionate concern, not only for the victims of these wrongs, but for their perpetrators as well.
If we believe in accepting one another as we are, then let us affirm each person's self-determination in how best to fulfill their desires, encouraging one another in a sexual ethic governed by honesty, respect for oneself and others, mutual consent, awareness of risk, and the affirmation of pleasure. In her book Sensuous Spirituality, Virginia Ramey Mollenkott recalled that one of the greatest gifts of inspiration she received was the advice to avoid condemning any other person's attempt to relate, however imperfect we may find it to be.
If we believe in a free and responsible search for meaning and truth, then let us continue to speak up for comprehensive education on sexuality, not only for our children and youth, but as part of a continuous and lifelong process of growth, as a way of furthering our understanding and appreciation of the myriad ways of loving human relationships and erotic pleasure.
If we believe in democracy and the right of conscience, and the goal of a just community with liberty for all, then let us provide safe spaces for people to discuss their questions, concerns and desires regarding sexuality, whether with an intimate partner, or in the context of community.
And if we believe that we are a part of an interdependent web of existence, then let us be mindful that our erotic selves are an integral part of our whole selves, and as such, one with a vital spiritual component. Let us not only infuse our respective sexualities with spiritual values and practice, but in return enliven our spirituality with a celebration of the sensuous and erotic, recognizing and affirming as the late John O'Donohue noted, the "secret relationship between our physical being and the rhythm of our soul," that "[t]he body is the place where the soul shows itself."
Above all else, my friends, let us not be complacent. It is easy to compare ourselves with those holding more conservative and puritanical approaches, patting ourselves on the back for being so much more welcoming and open-minded. But the challenge of our progressive faith is that we must constantly question and challenge one another. We must not only speak our truths in love, but listen when others do the same, and be mindful that doing so also means speaking truth to power – including the "powers-that-be" amongst us.
Beloved friends: As we celebrate Beltane, let us tend the sacred fire of Eros ... that its warmth may comfort us, that its light may guide us, that its energy may empower us to forge new ways of relating, and that we may – all of us – dance together in the circle of life.
AMEN, ASHÉ & BLESSED BE
Showing posts with label spiritual growth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spiritual growth. Show all posts
Sunday, May 3, 2015
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Idolatry
A kinky Episcopalian acquaintance once commented in an interview that the BDSM community's biggest problem isn't lust, contrary to what right-wing religionists would say. No, the bulk of us seem to have a good handle on that. The biggest problem, in her view, is idolatry. Too many kinksters seem ready to exalt one thing or another as the "one true way," even to the point of ignoring the harm such an attitude might cause. I've addressed that before regarding a BDSM organization here in Boston, whose members seem to extol the group as the center of all things, regardless of its many shortcomings. And I've mentioned idolatry in other posts as well, from Tiger Woods to iPhone apps.
Thing is, my understanding of this concept differs from "traditional" definitions of the term. How exactly does a Unitarian Universalist define idolatry? And, just as important, how do we deal with it?
From the traditionalist perspective, the best nutshell definition of idolatry is worshipping something unworthy of worship. This, of course, becomes utterly subjective, as it depends entirely on one's own particular religious allegiance. And what do you do when you consider yourself a religious humanist, given your devotion to critical thinking, not to mention how (or whether) you're willing to incorporate traditional religious terminology?
Many Christians use an alternate definition: putting the created above the Creator. But what happens when you don't believe in an anthropomorphic creator (which applies not only to nontheistic humanists, but many process theologians and pantheists as well)? Perhaps another way to word this would be to put:
-- the part above the whole
-- the immediate above the Ultimate
-- the hypothetical above the categorical
-- the means above the ends
This last wording, in my mind, not only touches upon the act of idolatry, but the very mindset behind it. When we extalt an object, person, group, idea or procedure above its proper place, we are in effect making it an end in itself rather than a means. Kantians would argue that persons ought to be ends in themselves, but I'm sure they would also agree that this excludes ranking particular persons above others.
Idolatry is not merely making a means into an end, however; it is transposing means and ends. When Jesus condemned the legalism of religious leaders, he wasn't just talking about how they imposed numerous rules upon people -- he was pointing out how they were exalting the "letter of the law" (the means of maintaining right relationship) above the spirit which was its foundation (the desired end of a just and compassionate society).
We can see such examples of idolatry all around us. Holding a grudge places one's anger and sense of self-righteousness above the need for reconciliation. Restricting where all "sex offenders" can live and work, even for the sake of public safety, can harm individuals who pose little risk to society. Embracing a political or social case, to the point of neglecting one's personal life, in the end serves neither the cause nor oneself. Seeing a given organization as virtually infallible, and mindlessly denouncing anyone who would question or critique it, can undermine the very purpose for which the organization was created.
We can even make idols of selected aspects of our religious and spiritual communities. Legalism can place rules of conduct and discipline above compassion and discernment. Ritualism can elevate selected expressions of outward worship above the inner spiritual life. Proselytism can overemphasize qualitative growth and retention of membership above quantitative growth in relationships. Devotion to a specific form of polity can stifle attempts to improve how a movement can resolve issues in ever-changing circumstances.
And while hypocrisy can be one consequence or expression of idolatry, dogmatic adherence to codified beliefs can likewise lead some to ignore the harm such hidebound attitudes can bring to others. A hard-core libertarian's devotion to the "free market" can blind them to the darker aspects of capitalist excess, while staunch leftists are oft unaware of Clarence Darrow's admonition that "even the rich have rights." Perhaps these are the "foolish consistencies" of which Ralph Waldo Emerson cautioned us to avoid.
It is indeed a difficult thing to remain mindful of our core values, especially our need to promote right relationship. To reach that ideal, we create institutions to guide us along the path. Sometimes those institutions work, sometimes they don't, and sometimes they are only partial or temporary solutions. Yet institutions often have a habit of taking on a life of its own, thus making it harder to question whether we continue to need them, and how best to craft new means to better reach our desired ends. This is especially true when people become intensely passionate about something they helped to create -- or something they feel the need to destroy.
Avoiding idolatry is indeed a hard thing, not least of which because our culture and politics are so thoroughly enmeshed in the confusion of means and ends. At the very least, we must always ask ourselves: "What good will this do -- and at what cost?"
Thing is, my understanding of this concept differs from "traditional" definitions of the term. How exactly does a Unitarian Universalist define idolatry? And, just as important, how do we deal with it?
From the traditionalist perspective, the best nutshell definition of idolatry is worshipping something unworthy of worship. This, of course, becomes utterly subjective, as it depends entirely on one's own particular religious allegiance. And what do you do when you consider yourself a religious humanist, given your devotion to critical thinking, not to mention how (or whether) you're willing to incorporate traditional religious terminology?
Many Christians use an alternate definition: putting the created above the Creator. But what happens when you don't believe in an anthropomorphic creator (which applies not only to nontheistic humanists, but many process theologians and pantheists as well)? Perhaps another way to word this would be to put:
-- the part above the whole
-- the immediate above the Ultimate
-- the hypothetical above the categorical
-- the means above the ends
This last wording, in my mind, not only touches upon the act of idolatry, but the very mindset behind it. When we extalt an object, person, group, idea or procedure above its proper place, we are in effect making it an end in itself rather than a means. Kantians would argue that persons ought to be ends in themselves, but I'm sure they would also agree that this excludes ranking particular persons above others.
Idolatry is not merely making a means into an end, however; it is transposing means and ends. When Jesus condemned the legalism of religious leaders, he wasn't just talking about how they imposed numerous rules upon people -- he was pointing out how they were exalting the "letter of the law" (the means of maintaining right relationship) above the spirit which was its foundation (the desired end of a just and compassionate society).
We can see such examples of idolatry all around us. Holding a grudge places one's anger and sense of self-righteousness above the need for reconciliation. Restricting where all "sex offenders" can live and work, even for the sake of public safety, can harm individuals who pose little risk to society. Embracing a political or social case, to the point of neglecting one's personal life, in the end serves neither the cause nor oneself. Seeing a given organization as virtually infallible, and mindlessly denouncing anyone who would question or critique it, can undermine the very purpose for which the organization was created.
We can even make idols of selected aspects of our religious and spiritual communities. Legalism can place rules of conduct and discipline above compassion and discernment. Ritualism can elevate selected expressions of outward worship above the inner spiritual life. Proselytism can overemphasize qualitative growth and retention of membership above quantitative growth in relationships. Devotion to a specific form of polity can stifle attempts to improve how a movement can resolve issues in ever-changing circumstances.
And while hypocrisy can be one consequence or expression of idolatry, dogmatic adherence to codified beliefs can likewise lead some to ignore the harm such hidebound attitudes can bring to others. A hard-core libertarian's devotion to the "free market" can blind them to the darker aspects of capitalist excess, while staunch leftists are oft unaware of Clarence Darrow's admonition that "even the rich have rights." Perhaps these are the "foolish consistencies" of which Ralph Waldo Emerson cautioned us to avoid.
It is indeed a difficult thing to remain mindful of our core values, especially our need to promote right relationship. To reach that ideal, we create institutions to guide us along the path. Sometimes those institutions work, sometimes they don't, and sometimes they are only partial or temporary solutions. Yet institutions often have a habit of taking on a life of its own, thus making it harder to question whether we continue to need them, and how best to craft new means to better reach our desired ends. This is especially true when people become intensely passionate about something they helped to create -- or something they feel the need to destroy.
Avoiding idolatry is indeed a hard thing, not least of which because our culture and politics are so thoroughly enmeshed in the confusion of means and ends. At the very least, we must always ask ourselves: "What good will this do -- and at what cost?"
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Atheists, Fundamentalists, and the Rest of Us
I wonder if anyone else has noticed that the vast majority of people who debate on religious issues tend to sit at the extreme ends -- the militant atheist who snidely dismisses all religion, and the devout fundamentalist who likewise regards liberals and modernists as warmed-over secular humanists.
And the rest of us? Perhaps it's the thought of being caught in their crossfire which makes us shy away from engaging them. Or perhaps the extremes are so fixated on one another, emotionally as well as intellectually, that we just fade from view.
But I'd like to propose that these two ends of the continuum are in fact more alike than they realize -- not merely in their zeal, or their sense of being outsiders, or their all-or-nothing dismissal of anything moderate, but in their logic.
Yes, logic. Fundamentalism has its own appealing logic, albeit a closed and empirically starved variety. For all their talk of faith, they take great pains to demonstrate in debate the superiority of their position.
Then they run headlong into the logic of the equally unwavering infidel. Where fundamentalists distort or ignore evidence (or the lack thereof) to uphold their belief system, atheists value evidence with equal vigor. Atheists accuse fundamentalists of ignoring obvious facts, and fundamentalists respond that atheists are ignoring the biggest truth of all.
Having read and heard all the arguments from each side, here's my conclusion: They're both right, and they're both wrong. Both are so caught up in their own logical presuppositions, nothing else matters or makes sense. At times, they each appear so focused on defining what they are against that it's hard to tell what they are for. And when someone else steps in with a different perspective ... well, you get the idea.
Allow me to dare suggest that the problem is not merely their respective systems of belief, but the common manner in which they reach those conclusions. Logic has its role in life, but even the most valuable tools have their limits. Logic may be essential as the foundation for science and mathematics -- but what of art, beauty, love? When someone entralls us with a story, where is the point of ranting about imperfections in grammar? This seems the tragedy of atheist and fundamentalist alike -- the failure to fully appreciate the poetic narrative of spirituality, because they persist in reading it with mathematician's eyes.
Take, for example, the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand. Fundamentalist logic starts with the presumption that the Bible must be literally true, and so the story is also true, as a sign of Jesus' power over nature. The logic of the skeptic begins with the presupposition that natural law cannot be broken, and so the story itself must be dismissed as fantasy. But there is another way to read the tale, where its factuality is not as important as how it resonates within the reader. Think of the image of this impoverished, itinerant preacher willing to share what little he and his companions had with a multitude of strangers. What would motivate him to do so? And what, by this example, are we called to do?
There is more to belief than mere precepts. There is what we value in the world, and in ourselves. And if all we value is being right and righteous, what then?
And the rest of us? Perhaps it's the thought of being caught in their crossfire which makes us shy away from engaging them. Or perhaps the extremes are so fixated on one another, emotionally as well as intellectually, that we just fade from view.
But I'd like to propose that these two ends of the continuum are in fact more alike than they realize -- not merely in their zeal, or their sense of being outsiders, or their all-or-nothing dismissal of anything moderate, but in their logic.
Yes, logic. Fundamentalism has its own appealing logic, albeit a closed and empirically starved variety. For all their talk of faith, they take great pains to demonstrate in debate the superiority of their position.
Then they run headlong into the logic of the equally unwavering infidel. Where fundamentalists distort or ignore evidence (or the lack thereof) to uphold their belief system, atheists value evidence with equal vigor. Atheists accuse fundamentalists of ignoring obvious facts, and fundamentalists respond that atheists are ignoring the biggest truth of all.
Having read and heard all the arguments from each side, here's my conclusion: They're both right, and they're both wrong. Both are so caught up in their own logical presuppositions, nothing else matters or makes sense. At times, they each appear so focused on defining what they are against that it's hard to tell what they are for. And when someone else steps in with a different perspective ... well, you get the idea.
Allow me to dare suggest that the problem is not merely their respective systems of belief, but the common manner in which they reach those conclusions. Logic has its role in life, but even the most valuable tools have their limits. Logic may be essential as the foundation for science and mathematics -- but what of art, beauty, love? When someone entralls us with a story, where is the point of ranting about imperfections in grammar? This seems the tragedy of atheist and fundamentalist alike -- the failure to fully appreciate the poetic narrative of spirituality, because they persist in reading it with mathematician's eyes.
Take, for example, the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand. Fundamentalist logic starts with the presumption that the Bible must be literally true, and so the story is also true, as a sign of Jesus' power over nature. The logic of the skeptic begins with the presupposition that natural law cannot be broken, and so the story itself must be dismissed as fantasy. But there is another way to read the tale, where its factuality is not as important as how it resonates within the reader. Think of the image of this impoverished, itinerant preacher willing to share what little he and his companions had with a multitude of strangers. What would motivate him to do so? And what, by this example, are we called to do?
There is more to belief than mere precepts. There is what we value in the world, and in ourselves. And if all we value is being right and righteous, what then?
Saturday, June 18, 2011
The Minister in the Bedroom
It started while attending the opening service at the Mass Bay District's annual meeting, listening to the sermom being given by a longtime UU minister. It was a rallying cry of sorts, and part of that was celebrating what he thought was right and good about Unitarian Universalism. And one of those things was that our ministers stay out of people's bedrooms.
Since then, I've heard other folks -- ministers especially -- use similar phrasing. And it's always led to my fiendish brain kicking in: What if I want my minister in the bedroom?
I'm not being literal here, as I'm sure that minister was not. But I can see how this exhortation to "stay out of the bedroom" might be misapplied -- how a minister who feels uncomfortable or unprepared on sexual matters could use it as a reason to refuse to counsel one of their parishioners on the subject. I don't think that's what this fellow intended, and it sure doesn't sound like good pastoral care.
I'd rather we say that ministers -- whether UU or any other tradition -- do not intrude into people's sex lives. May seem like a picky semantic thing, but there's a huge difference. Saying you won't intrude leaves open being able to provide guidance and support to someone facing an ethical or existential crisis around sex, just as pastors do so for many other events in our lives. It calls for a healthy respect for boundaries, both for the minister and the person being counseled. And it calls for ministers to be prepared, not only by being informed, but also in dealing with their own questions and comfort levels.
Right now, Unitarian Universalists across the continent have been engaging in conversations about the ethics of food production and consumption. That includes ministers preaching on the topic, and giving counsel to their parishioners. I've not heard anyone saying that our ministers should "stay out of" our kitchens and shopping carts -- but we also don't want them to cross the line and impose a list of rules on the rest of us. We turn to them for guidance when needed and invited, and expect that guidance to be suitably informed.
I'd like to see more of the same about sex. I'd like to see more real conversations about the value of consent, mutuality, and healthy boundaries. I'd like to hear more thoughtful sermons on sex and sexuality. I'd like more folks to come out to their ministers -- not just LGBTQ folks, but kinky, polyamorous, asexual and intersexual -- and more ministers giving people permission to do so. I'd like us to be more proactive in welcoming, engaging and supporting one another in this vital aspect of our lives.
Yes, I want my minister in the bedroom -- when needed and invited, to help with healing and discernment.
Since then, I've heard other folks -- ministers especially -- use similar phrasing. And it's always led to my fiendish brain kicking in: What if I want my minister in the bedroom?
I'm not being literal here, as I'm sure that minister was not. But I can see how this exhortation to "stay out of the bedroom" might be misapplied -- how a minister who feels uncomfortable or unprepared on sexual matters could use it as a reason to refuse to counsel one of their parishioners on the subject. I don't think that's what this fellow intended, and it sure doesn't sound like good pastoral care.
I'd rather we say that ministers -- whether UU or any other tradition -- do not intrude into people's sex lives. May seem like a picky semantic thing, but there's a huge difference. Saying you won't intrude leaves open being able to provide guidance and support to someone facing an ethical or existential crisis around sex, just as pastors do so for many other events in our lives. It calls for a healthy respect for boundaries, both for the minister and the person being counseled. And it calls for ministers to be prepared, not only by being informed, but also in dealing with their own questions and comfort levels.
Right now, Unitarian Universalists across the continent have been engaging in conversations about the ethics of food production and consumption. That includes ministers preaching on the topic, and giving counsel to their parishioners. I've not heard anyone saying that our ministers should "stay out of" our kitchens and shopping carts -- but we also don't want them to cross the line and impose a list of rules on the rest of us. We turn to them for guidance when needed and invited, and expect that guidance to be suitably informed.
I'd like to see more of the same about sex. I'd like to see more real conversations about the value of consent, mutuality, and healthy boundaries. I'd like to hear more thoughtful sermons on sex and sexuality. I'd like more folks to come out to their ministers -- not just LGBTQ folks, but kinky, polyamorous, asexual and intersexual -- and more ministers giving people permission to do so. I'd like us to be more proactive in welcoming, engaging and supporting one another in this vital aspect of our lives.
Yes, I want my minister in the bedroom -- when needed and invited, to help with healing and discernment.
Monday, September 6, 2010
SHALOM: Towards a Theology of Wholeness
Sermon delivered at Arlington Street Church, Boston MA on September 5, 2010
CHALICE LIGHTING – Ralph Waldo Emerson
"Within us is the soul of the whole; the wise silence, the universal beauty, to which every part and particle is equally related, the eternal One. When it breaks through our intellect, it is genius; when it breathes through our will, it is virtue, when it flows through our affections, it is love" – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Many sermons have been preached from this pulpit based upon a single story, or a single sentence. This one is based upon a single word – but a word with more complex meaning than you may have realized.
SHALOM has often been translated into English as “Peace.” Thus, when we hear of the word being used in the same way as “Hello” and “Good-bye,” we think in terms of bidding one another peace.
But, what kind of peace? Is it the same as the Latin Pax, meaning an agreement between two or more persons or groups? Is it like the ancient Greek Eirene, meaning rest or quiet?
No, SHALOM stems from a different root, one that conveys wholeness, integrity, and well-being. From that root also comes the verb l’shalem, “to pay,” and thus the implication that peace, wholeness and all that come with it must be bought with a price. Biblical scholar James Strong additionally included as possible definitions: to make amends, to make good, to restore, and prosperity.
With all that in mind, think now of the multitude of meanings one could garner when one person greets another with the word SHALOM:
“May you know wholeness.”
“May all things be good with you.”
“May all that is broken be restored.”
“May all you deserve be received.”
I think it no accident that the ancient Hebrews found so much meaning in such a small word. The very structure of the language allows for multiple understandings based on a common imagery. In this day and culture, what imagery can we invoke to better understand the wholeness of SHALOM?
Let me propose the image of a puzzle. Imagine that you are given a box, and inside are a number of intricately shaped pieces. As you look them over, you realize that some fit together in an obvious way. And as you sort and play about with them, you find other, less obvious ways to put those pieces together.
But, it’s a big puzzle, and it takes time and effort. So other folks come over, see what you’re doing, and suggest putting this piece in here, or sliding that piece over there. Once in a while, someone will suggest that you discard a particular piece, while another may insist that the box you were given is missing a piece. Eventually, with enough effort and insight, the pieces come together and a form takes shape – the puzzle is restored to wholeness.
Our lives – both individually and in community – can be seen as very much a puzzle, a collection of different pieces which are meant to fit together. Many times, we seek the insights of others to help us find what fits where. The difference, of course, is that we’re not given all of the pieces all at once. Many come to us over time, in the form of education and experience. Still, we need to find a way to fit them together, to bring the final form to shape.
Now, for those who come from a conservative religious background, this analogy may be pushing buttons for you. The Old Testamant prophet Jeremiah used a similar image, of a potter turning clay into a vessel. To many conservative theologians, the analogy is clear – God is the potter, and we are the clay, to be shaped according to his will. Likewise, one can see a conservative interpretation of the puzzle analogy, with God as the puzzle master, working through us and those around us to put the broken pieces back together.
As a Unitarian Universalist, I have a more positive and complex understanding of both images. I can see the Divine not as the potter, but as the source of the clay and water used to make the pot. We are the potter, kneading the clay, turning it on the wheel, artfully shaping it with our hands, while others do the same and offer help and advice. Likewise, we receive the pieces of our puzzle, and as each piece comes in due course, find its proper place in the whole, with help from those around us.
As useful as this image may be, like all metaphors it is merely a tool, and even the most useful of tools has its limits. For one thing, our industrialized culture has influenced us to think of things like puzzles as uniform objects, like mass-produced jigsaws, or the Rubik’s Cube. But neither the human soul nor the beloved community are mass-produced artifacts; our perceptions and experiences are rarely, if ever, one size fits all. We may share insights, as we share a common humanity, but the myriad details of individual experience call for us to adapt them to the unique realities of our lives.
This, I believe, is the answer to a frequent critique of the pluralistic approach of Unitarian Universalism. How can a movement which eschews doctrine and creed call itself a common faith, much less offer clear answers to the problems of life? It is because of the complexities of life that we need a faith which looks beyond ready-made formulas which often wind up dividing and separating us, even splitting the psyche from within.
Many spiritual traditions, for example, call upon people to overcome anger, fear, hatred and pain. In the quest to find spiritual well-being and peace, too often we read this as a call to discard or extinguish these parts of ourselves. Yet we do so at our peril. The quest for wholeness calls for us not to disown or shove aside unpleasant aspects of our psyche, but to put them in their proper place, to find a way to own them without letting them own us. We can be angry, for example, and it can even empower us to seek justice or avoid further harm. It is when we let it fester into a consuming rage that we risk becoming that which has injured us.
Likewise, in the life of a community, there is often the temptation to downplay the more unsavory elements of our history. A movement may pursue justice, yet adapt tactics which are themselves oppressive. Another community may extol the power of love, yet turn that love inward to the comfortable familiar, and in the process exclude those on the outside who starve for compassion and understanding.
An example can be seen in the tumult surrounding the Stonewall riot of 1969. After so many years of continued repression and violence at the hands of police, a relative handful of drag queens, street kids and other queers decided all at once that enough was enough, and rose in revolt. What is often forgotten is how the events of those summer nights were followed by bitter debates and division within the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender community. The Mattachine Society decried the violence and distanced themselves from those involved – and those who became involved in the burgeoning Gay Liberation movement responded that such distancing was no mean feat, as the relatively more affluent and assimilated homophile group had constantly kept many in the community at arm’s length.
They further questioned just how effective Mattachine’s more cautious approach had been, and even whether it had unintentionally aided anti-gay oppression in its striving to craft a more respectable image for itself. That debate went on for decades, and continues to this day, just as many gay men, lesbian women, bisexual and transgender folks and other sexual minorities struggle within and amongst each other to find a balance between being true to ourselves and fitting in with a culture which is not yet fully accepting of our truths.
It is that striving for reconciliation, for restoring integrity and wellness within our souls and our communities, that can seem frustrating to us. We may solve that fiendish Rubik’s Cube, and put it down with a sigh of relief – until someone comes along and messes it up again. But unlike the plastic pieces of a machine-made puzzle, the heart is a living thing, and like all living things it grows and changes with time. So even if, by miracle and effort, each of us finds that wholeness and peace of mind we seek, we are still called to grow in that wholeness. And just as every living thing is interconnected one to another, so our fate is bound with others, and so we are called to help others as best we can to find SHALOM together.
Amen and blessed be
BENEDICTION
May you know wholeness.
May all things be good with you.
May all that is broken be restored.
May all you deserve be received.
And as this brings you peace,
May you strive to share and create
The peace and goodness so needed
In this world of which we are a part.
CHALICE LIGHTING – Ralph Waldo Emerson
"Within us is the soul of the whole; the wise silence, the universal beauty, to which every part and particle is equally related, the eternal One. When it breaks through our intellect, it is genius; when it breathes through our will, it is virtue, when it flows through our affections, it is love" – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Many sermons have been preached from this pulpit based upon a single story, or a single sentence. This one is based upon a single word – but a word with more complex meaning than you may have realized.
SHALOM has often been translated into English as “Peace.” Thus, when we hear of the word being used in the same way as “Hello” and “Good-bye,” we think in terms of bidding one another peace.
But, what kind of peace? Is it the same as the Latin Pax, meaning an agreement between two or more persons or groups? Is it like the ancient Greek Eirene, meaning rest or quiet?
No, SHALOM stems from a different root, one that conveys wholeness, integrity, and well-being. From that root also comes the verb l’shalem, “to pay,” and thus the implication that peace, wholeness and all that come with it must be bought with a price. Biblical scholar James Strong additionally included as possible definitions: to make amends, to make good, to restore, and prosperity.
With all that in mind, think now of the multitude of meanings one could garner when one person greets another with the word SHALOM:
“May you know wholeness.”
“May all things be good with you.”
“May all that is broken be restored.”
“May all you deserve be received.”
I think it no accident that the ancient Hebrews found so much meaning in such a small word. The very structure of the language allows for multiple understandings based on a common imagery. In this day and culture, what imagery can we invoke to better understand the wholeness of SHALOM?
Let me propose the image of a puzzle. Imagine that you are given a box, and inside are a number of intricately shaped pieces. As you look them over, you realize that some fit together in an obvious way. And as you sort and play about with them, you find other, less obvious ways to put those pieces together.
But, it’s a big puzzle, and it takes time and effort. So other folks come over, see what you’re doing, and suggest putting this piece in here, or sliding that piece over there. Once in a while, someone will suggest that you discard a particular piece, while another may insist that the box you were given is missing a piece. Eventually, with enough effort and insight, the pieces come together and a form takes shape – the puzzle is restored to wholeness.
Our lives – both individually and in community – can be seen as very much a puzzle, a collection of different pieces which are meant to fit together. Many times, we seek the insights of others to help us find what fits where. The difference, of course, is that we’re not given all of the pieces all at once. Many come to us over time, in the form of education and experience. Still, we need to find a way to fit them together, to bring the final form to shape.
Now, for those who come from a conservative religious background, this analogy may be pushing buttons for you. The Old Testamant prophet Jeremiah used a similar image, of a potter turning clay into a vessel. To many conservative theologians, the analogy is clear – God is the potter, and we are the clay, to be shaped according to his will. Likewise, one can see a conservative interpretation of the puzzle analogy, with God as the puzzle master, working through us and those around us to put the broken pieces back together.
As a Unitarian Universalist, I have a more positive and complex understanding of both images. I can see the Divine not as the potter, but as the source of the clay and water used to make the pot. We are the potter, kneading the clay, turning it on the wheel, artfully shaping it with our hands, while others do the same and offer help and advice. Likewise, we receive the pieces of our puzzle, and as each piece comes in due course, find its proper place in the whole, with help from those around us.
As useful as this image may be, like all metaphors it is merely a tool, and even the most useful of tools has its limits. For one thing, our industrialized culture has influenced us to think of things like puzzles as uniform objects, like mass-produced jigsaws, or the Rubik’s Cube. But neither the human soul nor the beloved community are mass-produced artifacts; our perceptions and experiences are rarely, if ever, one size fits all. We may share insights, as we share a common humanity, but the myriad details of individual experience call for us to adapt them to the unique realities of our lives.
This, I believe, is the answer to a frequent critique of the pluralistic approach of Unitarian Universalism. How can a movement which eschews doctrine and creed call itself a common faith, much less offer clear answers to the problems of life? It is because of the complexities of life that we need a faith which looks beyond ready-made formulas which often wind up dividing and separating us, even splitting the psyche from within.
Many spiritual traditions, for example, call upon people to overcome anger, fear, hatred and pain. In the quest to find spiritual well-being and peace, too often we read this as a call to discard or extinguish these parts of ourselves. Yet we do so at our peril. The quest for wholeness calls for us not to disown or shove aside unpleasant aspects of our psyche, but to put them in their proper place, to find a way to own them without letting them own us. We can be angry, for example, and it can even empower us to seek justice or avoid further harm. It is when we let it fester into a consuming rage that we risk becoming that which has injured us.
Likewise, in the life of a community, there is often the temptation to downplay the more unsavory elements of our history. A movement may pursue justice, yet adapt tactics which are themselves oppressive. Another community may extol the power of love, yet turn that love inward to the comfortable familiar, and in the process exclude those on the outside who starve for compassion and understanding.
An example can be seen in the tumult surrounding the Stonewall riot of 1969. After so many years of continued repression and violence at the hands of police, a relative handful of drag queens, street kids and other queers decided all at once that enough was enough, and rose in revolt. What is often forgotten is how the events of those summer nights were followed by bitter debates and division within the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender community. The Mattachine Society decried the violence and distanced themselves from those involved – and those who became involved in the burgeoning Gay Liberation movement responded that such distancing was no mean feat, as the relatively more affluent and assimilated homophile group had constantly kept many in the community at arm’s length.
They further questioned just how effective Mattachine’s more cautious approach had been, and even whether it had unintentionally aided anti-gay oppression in its striving to craft a more respectable image for itself. That debate went on for decades, and continues to this day, just as many gay men, lesbian women, bisexual and transgender folks and other sexual minorities struggle within and amongst each other to find a balance between being true to ourselves and fitting in with a culture which is not yet fully accepting of our truths.
It is that striving for reconciliation, for restoring integrity and wellness within our souls and our communities, that can seem frustrating to us. We may solve that fiendish Rubik’s Cube, and put it down with a sigh of relief – until someone comes along and messes it up again. But unlike the plastic pieces of a machine-made puzzle, the heart is a living thing, and like all living things it grows and changes with time. So even if, by miracle and effort, each of us finds that wholeness and peace of mind we seek, we are still called to grow in that wholeness. And just as every living thing is interconnected one to another, so our fate is bound with others, and so we are called to help others as best we can to find SHALOM together.
Amen and blessed be
BENEDICTION
May you know wholeness.
May all things be good with you.
May all that is broken be restored.
May all you deserve be received.
And as this brings you peace,
May you strive to share and create
The peace and goodness so needed
In this world of which we are a part.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Leather & Grace, Part III: Playing with Power
We UUs have, to put it mildly, a rather ambivalent relationship with power. On the one hand, we come across as extreme individualists; on the other, we retain many of the structures and trappings of our Protestant Christian forebears. We detest creeds and shibboleths, constantly reviewing and questioning every jot and tittle of the covenants and affirmations which hold us together, arguing over resolutions and forcefully asserting our right to disagree. Yet we still call ministers, elect congregational boards, and turn to district and national staff for guidance. And even then, there will be those who complain that all these elected and appointed elites have “too much power” for their tastes.
Perhaps this is a core reason why so many UUs are uneasy with BDSM. It’s not the flogging or the bondage gear or the fetish attire – it’s the issue of power, of one person being dominant and the other submissive. To be more specific, it’s about assumptions regarding power, and how those assumptions can cloud our perception of the reality of D/s relationships. Longtime leatherman Hardy Haberman sums it up best:
Dominants do not simply demand power from a submissive, nor does the submissive simply bow down at any given dominant’s command. The healthy D/s relationship is one of continual communication, negotiation and mutual growth – just as in any other human relationship, including those we find in spiritual community. And while D/s relationships may be overtly hierarchical, they begin from an equal footing, with each partner retaining the right to call for a reassessment of their relationship dynamics.
This is not to say that we don’t have kinksters with their own issues about power and control. But the BDSM community is in many ways a paradigm of an explicitly covenantal community. From customs and etiquette to written rules and contracts, we are constantly negotiating and delineating how we interact with one another, and what it means to be part of our tribe.
“But don’t we do that in UU circles, too?” Sure, although I’d say a considerable number of UUs do so “under protest” – that is, they’d rather not have to deal with power structures within our movement. Even more so in personal relationships, where feminist and progressive sensibilities presume that partners must be completely equal. Problem is, what if you don’t want to be always equal all the time? If equality is imposed – whether by rule of law or force of habit – how is that better than imposing hierarchical relationships? On the other hand, if the partners in a relationship mutually agree to other models for sharing and entrusting power, and they are happy in such an arrangement, how is that worse than any other?
Lord Acton is famous for the warning: “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely” – and you’ll note the emphasis added. When we consider power as a tool, a means to an end, then we are more likely to use it with balance, and to learn when and with whom it can be entrusted. It is when we see power as an end in itself, even as an entity unto itself, that we run into the dangers we so often fear.
Perhaps this is a core reason why so many UUs are uneasy with BDSM. It’s not the flogging or the bondage gear or the fetish attire – it’s the issue of power, of one person being dominant and the other submissive. To be more specific, it’s about assumptions regarding power, and how those assumptions can cloud our perception of the reality of D/s relationships. Longtime leatherman Hardy Haberman sums it up best:
For most of the world, domination is a sign of anger and suppression, yet in the context of a leather scene it can be an act of caring and affection. As children we were taught that submission is a sign of weakness, yet in our realm submission becomes a voluntary surrender of power and an act worthy of respect.
Dominants do not simply demand power from a submissive, nor does the submissive simply bow down at any given dominant’s command. The healthy D/s relationship is one of continual communication, negotiation and mutual growth – just as in any other human relationship, including those we find in spiritual community. And while D/s relationships may be overtly hierarchical, they begin from an equal footing, with each partner retaining the right to call for a reassessment of their relationship dynamics.
This is not to say that we don’t have kinksters with their own issues about power and control. But the BDSM community is in many ways a paradigm of an explicitly covenantal community. From customs and etiquette to written rules and contracts, we are constantly negotiating and delineating how we interact with one another, and what it means to be part of our tribe.
“But don’t we do that in UU circles, too?” Sure, although I’d say a considerable number of UUs do so “under protest” – that is, they’d rather not have to deal with power structures within our movement. Even more so in personal relationships, where feminist and progressive sensibilities presume that partners must be completely equal. Problem is, what if you don’t want to be always equal all the time? If equality is imposed – whether by rule of law or force of habit – how is that better than imposing hierarchical relationships? On the other hand, if the partners in a relationship mutually agree to other models for sharing and entrusting power, and they are happy in such an arrangement, how is that worse than any other?
Lord Acton is famous for the warning: “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely” – and you’ll note the emphasis added. When we consider power as a tool, a means to an end, then we are more likely to use it with balance, and to learn when and with whom it can be entrusted. It is when we see power as an end in itself, even as an entity unto itself, that we run into the dangers we so often fear.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Leather & Grace, Part II: Pushing Limits
This summer is my tenth anniversary when I first entered the realm of kink. I was having a summer fling with a wonderful young lady, when she asked if I would be willing to do some role-play. Not just any role-play, mind you. Dark, edgy, downright scary stuff. And it took quite a bit of convincing to get me there, and more work to process the intense emotional after-effects.
I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
BDSM is not easy. It takes learning not only various skills, but learning about oneself and the connection between what we do and the why behind it all. Still, there is a balance between allowing individuals to choose and affirm what speaks to them, and encouraging them to push their limits.
“Pushing limits” is a common phrase within the world of kink. Often it refers to a skilled top or dominant taking a bottom or submissive to the edge of where they want to go – their “limit” – and then carefully and skillfully “pushing” them just a little further. Yet it can also go the other way, just as my first experience pushed me past a limit I thought I’d never cross.
Limits are important for defining who we are, especially our desires and emotional needs. Yet they are not always so clear cut. We often speak in BDSM circles of “hard” and “soft” limits, and even so-called hard limits can be challenged in the right way. I remember hearing a woman describing her first experience with play piercing, which she had always feared because she expected it to be too painful for her to handle. When it was explained to her how it was actually done, and how the body typically reacted, she decided to try it under the guidance of a trusted and expert top. “Now,” she said, “I can’t get enough of it.”
Apply this ideal of pushing limits to spirituality and ethical thinking, and you have Unitarian Universalism at its best. Our whole history has been about pushing limits, from our early history of questioning Christian doctrines, to our evolution into a diverse and welcoming movement. Yet even with this history, we’re still human and too often fall short of that ideal. Where one limit has been pushed, another comes in its place.
An example of this is when, after describing myself as “heretical even by UU standards,” a young woman replied with wide eyes: “You mean … you’re a Republican?” Hilarious, yes, but what if a Republican or Libertarian who was attracted to our faith found herself surrounded by registered Democrats and Greens? What if a liberal Christian found that the only UU congregation in her area was overwhelmingly Humanist, Buddhist, Pagan, or a mixture thereof?
Such “what-if” scenarios have actually happened, and how we respond is the real test of our faith’s core values. And that includes those of us who engage in heretical forms of sexual expression, who not only push our own personal limits, but by our very existence challenge the assumption of how we may find joy and fulfillment in our relationships and erotic experiences.
I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
BDSM is not easy. It takes learning not only various skills, but learning about oneself and the connection between what we do and the why behind it all. Still, there is a balance between allowing individuals to choose and affirm what speaks to them, and encouraging them to push their limits.
“Pushing limits” is a common phrase within the world of kink. Often it refers to a skilled top or dominant taking a bottom or submissive to the edge of where they want to go – their “limit” – and then carefully and skillfully “pushing” them just a little further. Yet it can also go the other way, just as my first experience pushed me past a limit I thought I’d never cross.
Limits are important for defining who we are, especially our desires and emotional needs. Yet they are not always so clear cut. We often speak in BDSM circles of “hard” and “soft” limits, and even so-called hard limits can be challenged in the right way. I remember hearing a woman describing her first experience with play piercing, which she had always feared because she expected it to be too painful for her to handle. When it was explained to her how it was actually done, and how the body typically reacted, she decided to try it under the guidance of a trusted and expert top. “Now,” she said, “I can’t get enough of it.”
Apply this ideal of pushing limits to spirituality and ethical thinking, and you have Unitarian Universalism at its best. Our whole history has been about pushing limits, from our early history of questioning Christian doctrines, to our evolution into a diverse and welcoming movement. Yet even with this history, we’re still human and too often fall short of that ideal. Where one limit has been pushed, another comes in its place.
An example of this is when, after describing myself as “heretical even by UU standards,” a young woman replied with wide eyes: “You mean … you’re a Republican?” Hilarious, yes, but what if a Republican or Libertarian who was attracted to our faith found herself surrounded by registered Democrats and Greens? What if a liberal Christian found that the only UU congregation in her area was overwhelmingly Humanist, Buddhist, Pagan, or a mixture thereof?
Such “what-if” scenarios have actually happened, and how we respond is the real test of our faith’s core values. And that includes those of us who engage in heretical forms of sexual expression, who not only push our own personal limits, but by our very existence challenge the assumption of how we may find joy and fulfillment in our relationships and erotic experiences.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Compassion for the Closeted - And the Real Hypocrisy Behind It
Recently someone on my Facebook list posted a link to a scandalous story. In it, the president of a prominent Catholic high school in the Midwest had been caught in a sex sting, groping an undercover police officer in a park notorious for anonymous gay sex.
You'll notice I've refused to give any personal details here. It's bad enough this fellow has been forced out of the closet in his home town. Does he really need a kinky heretic like me adding to his misery?
There are different reasons different people keep their sexual identity away from public view. Whatever that reason, we should lean towards respecting them. If the person in question is a public figure renowned for "promoting family values", then exposing such hypocrisy seems more important than privacy.
In this case, however, we're dealing with a private individual with no record of espousing anti-GLBT propaganda. Yet he's also caught in the dilemma of having to deny his desires for intimacy and pleasure out of obedience to church doctrine. Well, you can only do that for so long. Is it any wonder, then, that he resorted to such risky action?
So I feel compassion for this fellow, and I hope he can find a way to come to grips with his sexuality, and to reconcile it with his faith. I feel that way for so many who feel they are caught between competing desires - the erotic and spiritual - and hope that they and their families and communities will come to see that these need not be mutually exclusive.
What really bothers me is the real hypocrisy behind all of this. Men like this school administrator can confess their sins, do their penance, and be forgiven for what is seen as a temporary lapse in moral judgement. If, however, they chose to live in a committed loving relationship, then all bets are off. Thus the churches which continually condemn anything outside of "traditonal marriage" wind up showing greater tolerance for behavior which is furthest away from that ideal.
This is the problem with a sexual moralism which fixates on form instead of being concerned with content. The forms are so many, contradictions and conundrums are inevitable. And in all of this, where is the value of love - not just for those who repent and obey church doctrine, but those who are willing to question bravely how those doctrines do more harm than good?
You'll notice I've refused to give any personal details here. It's bad enough this fellow has been forced out of the closet in his home town. Does he really need a kinky heretic like me adding to his misery?
There are different reasons different people keep their sexual identity away from public view. Whatever that reason, we should lean towards respecting them. If the person in question is a public figure renowned for "promoting family values", then exposing such hypocrisy seems more important than privacy.
In this case, however, we're dealing with a private individual with no record of espousing anti-GLBT propaganda. Yet he's also caught in the dilemma of having to deny his desires for intimacy and pleasure out of obedience to church doctrine. Well, you can only do that for so long. Is it any wonder, then, that he resorted to such risky action?
So I feel compassion for this fellow, and I hope he can find a way to come to grips with his sexuality, and to reconcile it with his faith. I feel that way for so many who feel they are caught between competing desires - the erotic and spiritual - and hope that they and their families and communities will come to see that these need not be mutually exclusive.
What really bothers me is the real hypocrisy behind all of this. Men like this school administrator can confess their sins, do their penance, and be forgiven for what is seen as a temporary lapse in moral judgement. If, however, they chose to live in a committed loving relationship, then all bets are off. Thus the churches which continually condemn anything outside of "traditonal marriage" wind up showing greater tolerance for behavior which is furthest away from that ideal.
This is the problem with a sexual moralism which fixates on form instead of being concerned with content. The forms are so many, contradictions and conundrums are inevitable. And in all of this, where is the value of love - not just for those who repent and obey church doctrine, but those who are willing to question bravely how those doctrines do more harm than good?
Sunday, July 4, 2010
It Takes Both Sides to Build a Bridge
Let me begin this post with an apology. If I sound angry, frustrated, or just plain fed up, it has nothing to do with you personally. I’ve been trying to comfort the afflicted for quite some time; now I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s time to afflict the comfortable. If you feel you don’t deserve the harshness of this message, please remember that there are those who do, or who fail to grasp how harsh silence can be. So, with that in mind, here goes …
As I went through the process of formally joining my congregation, I made it clear to the senior minister that I am openly kinky, and that part of my reason for joining was to help build a bridge between the two communities. And I asked her if she and the congregation were ready for that – to see more kinky folks come into the church, even reach out to the BDSM community, so that people on both sides might share their spiritual gifts with one another, and work together for justice and understanding.
She said that she believed that was possible, and that she could see me in that role of bridge builder. It was encouraging and empowering.
And now, I’m beginning to wonder.
Yes, I’ve come a long way. I’ve never hidden being kinky or polyamorous to anyone in the congregation, and they’ve been great about it. I’ve had others come out to me, even thank me for being as out as I am. Others have shown their appreciation for helping them understand sexuality issues better, whether at a Sacred Eros meeting or in private.
Yet there are others who simply do not want to talk about it. I’ve heard of at least one person who left the congregation over it, even though I had offered to answer any questions or concerns they had. And there are plenty of kinky and poly folks who have come to worship services or other events, found it a warm and inviting place, perhaps even a spiritual home, yet remain wary of going any further than “just visiting.”
I’ve heard from other UU kinksters in other congregations, and the news isn’t always pleasant. Many feel they must remain in the closet, because it’s clear that others are not comfortable with their presence. One woman told how she was hauled before a committee, questioned at length, then told to sign a one-sided covenant which would have barred her from so much as mentioning BDSM with anyone else, while the committee could selectively out her to others. Another told me that, after coming out to the new minister in private (as he had done when he joined years before) he was told it “would be for the best” if he simply left.
Granted, there will always be some who refuse to listen or understand. Even when the bridge is clearly before them, they will not walk across it, or welcome any who come from the other side. The real problem, however, is that there’s no bridge to speak of. Those of us who are kinky UUs often feel as though we have to swim back and forth between the shores, while the folks on either side expect us to build the bridge all by ourselves.
So, let me make it plain. Swimming from shore to shore is exhausting. And it takes more than one or a few hardy souls to build that bridge, and certainly not from one side alone. It takes both sides to build a bridge.
Unitarian Universalists cannot simply wait for BDSM folks to swim over. We’re already in your congregations, worshiping and serving alongside you. Many are silent, because they’ve already heard ignorant and fearful things said about them from others in the pews, or even from the pulpit. And the very reason I chose to come out to the members of my congregation is that I know from those silent kinfolk how soul-scarring that is.
That has to end. And, frankly, I can’t do it all by myself, nor can other kinky UUs be expected to do what I do all by themselves. We need ministers, educators, staff and lay leaders to join in. We need you to learn who we really are and what we’re really about. We need you to speak the truth in love whenever someone maligns us out of ignorance and fear. We need to welcome us as our whole selves, to see that the experience of our sexuality carries spiritual gifts worth sharing, and to encourage other UUs to do the same.
The same goes for those in the kink community. I have heard you talk for so long about changing laws and attitudes. Well, to do so will require allies, and you can’t just wait for them to come to you. You need to reach out to UU congregations, leaders and social justice organization. You need to help them understand what we kinksters have to go through. And yes, at the risk of sounding evangelical, you need to go to church, to understand who we are and what gifts we have to offer you.
Our two communities already have much in common, and much to offer one another – but that alone is not enough. The fact that so many UUs are so wary of us kinksters, and so many kinksters are so wary about church, tells me that we need more. We need to devote the time, resources and hard work to building that bridge, rather than assume that it’s already there. We need to realize that those of us with kinfolk on either side of the shore cannot afford to keep swimming from shore to shore. We need the experience of others who have built bridges, or who have enjoyed what has come over them, to lend a hand.
As I went through the process of formally joining my congregation, I made it clear to the senior minister that I am openly kinky, and that part of my reason for joining was to help build a bridge between the two communities. And I asked her if she and the congregation were ready for that – to see more kinky folks come into the church, even reach out to the BDSM community, so that people on both sides might share their spiritual gifts with one another, and work together for justice and understanding.
She said that she believed that was possible, and that she could see me in that role of bridge builder. It was encouraging and empowering.
And now, I’m beginning to wonder.
Yes, I’ve come a long way. I’ve never hidden being kinky or polyamorous to anyone in the congregation, and they’ve been great about it. I’ve had others come out to me, even thank me for being as out as I am. Others have shown their appreciation for helping them understand sexuality issues better, whether at a Sacred Eros meeting or in private.
Yet there are others who simply do not want to talk about it. I’ve heard of at least one person who left the congregation over it, even though I had offered to answer any questions or concerns they had. And there are plenty of kinky and poly folks who have come to worship services or other events, found it a warm and inviting place, perhaps even a spiritual home, yet remain wary of going any further than “just visiting.”
I’ve heard from other UU kinksters in other congregations, and the news isn’t always pleasant. Many feel they must remain in the closet, because it’s clear that others are not comfortable with their presence. One woman told how she was hauled before a committee, questioned at length, then told to sign a one-sided covenant which would have barred her from so much as mentioning BDSM with anyone else, while the committee could selectively out her to others. Another told me that, after coming out to the new minister in private (as he had done when he joined years before) he was told it “would be for the best” if he simply left.
Granted, there will always be some who refuse to listen or understand. Even when the bridge is clearly before them, they will not walk across it, or welcome any who come from the other side. The real problem, however, is that there’s no bridge to speak of. Those of us who are kinky UUs often feel as though we have to swim back and forth between the shores, while the folks on either side expect us to build the bridge all by ourselves.
So, let me make it plain. Swimming from shore to shore is exhausting. And it takes more than one or a few hardy souls to build that bridge, and certainly not from one side alone. It takes both sides to build a bridge.
Unitarian Universalists cannot simply wait for BDSM folks to swim over. We’re already in your congregations, worshiping and serving alongside you. Many are silent, because they’ve already heard ignorant and fearful things said about them from others in the pews, or even from the pulpit. And the very reason I chose to come out to the members of my congregation is that I know from those silent kinfolk how soul-scarring that is.
That has to end. And, frankly, I can’t do it all by myself, nor can other kinky UUs be expected to do what I do all by themselves. We need ministers, educators, staff and lay leaders to join in. We need you to learn who we really are and what we’re really about. We need you to speak the truth in love whenever someone maligns us out of ignorance and fear. We need to welcome us as our whole selves, to see that the experience of our sexuality carries spiritual gifts worth sharing, and to encourage other UUs to do the same.
The same goes for those in the kink community. I have heard you talk for so long about changing laws and attitudes. Well, to do so will require allies, and you can’t just wait for them to come to you. You need to reach out to UU congregations, leaders and social justice organization. You need to help them understand what we kinksters have to go through. And yes, at the risk of sounding evangelical, you need to go to church, to understand who we are and what gifts we have to offer you.
Our two communities already have much in common, and much to offer one another – but that alone is not enough. The fact that so many UUs are so wary of us kinksters, and so many kinksters are so wary about church, tells me that we need more. We need to devote the time, resources and hard work to building that bridge, rather than assume that it’s already there. We need to realize that those of us with kinfolk on either side of the shore cannot afford to keep swimming from shore to shore. We need the experience of others who have built bridges, or who have enjoyed what has come over them, to lend a hand.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Sacred Eros: Embodying the Divine in Our Sexualities
A homily delivered at Arlington Street Church, Boston MA - September 5, 2007
Jesus Christ. The Buddha. The Prophet Mohammed. Lao Tzu.
What do you think of when you hear these names? Their spiritual teachings? The examples of their lives? I’ll wager that the last thing you think about is their lives as sexual human beings, with desires and passions like our own.
This is just one example of how our culture – even in so-called liberal quarters – persists in dividing sexuality and spirituality from one another. Eros, as passionate and primal love, was demoted by early Christian theologians who claimed that the “higher” spiritual love of agape was the ideal to which all people should aspire. In fact, this so-called split between physical passion and spiritual love owes more to the influence of Manichean and Stoic dualism on the thought of Augustine and other church fathers, and ignores how the Bible not only includes the Song of Solomon, but in many places uses the terms agape and eros interchangeably.
Granted, we have come a long way since then, both in theory and in practice. There is the fact that I can stand here and deliver this homily, in one of many churches which welcome people of all sexual and gender identities. Then there is our denomination’s shared work with the United Church of Christ in creating and presenting one of the most widely praised sexuality education series, “Our Whole Lives.” But it’s hard to overcome centuries of anti-sex dualism. Ours is still a rarified atmosphere here at Arlington Street Church, and much of the surrounding American culture would prefer not to talk seriously about sexuality, or to do so in embarrassed, even shameful whispers. Even supposedly progressive and enlightened individuals can be, and often are, reticent to discuss and come to terms with various aspects of human sexual expression.
This is the challenge to progressive spiritual communities such as ours. If sexuality is as important an aspect of our being as any other, then is it not as much spiritual as anything else? If it is a source of joy, pleasure and connection, then should we not then see it as a means by which we may embody the Divine within and amongst ourselves? And if we wish, in the words of lesbian feminist theologian Virginia Ramey Mollenkott, to reclaim Eros as a spiritual urge, then should we not dare to rethink the very presumptions by which we view the myriad ways that we and our fellow human beings express and connect through sexuality?
First: We need to create a safe space where people can talk about sexuality. In her book Our Tribe, Reverend Nancy Wilson talked about how, whenever representatives of the Metropolitan Community Church would attend meetings of the National Council of Churches, they would become impromptu counselors on sexuality and relationships, often having NCC delegates and staff knocking on their hotel room doors in the middle of the night, painfully in need of someone to talk to. Set aside the presumption that openly gay or lesbian people are somehow instant experts on sex. Why would people, many of them trained clergy and pastoral counselors themselves, turn to relative strangers in the middle of the night for advice and information on sex? Could it be that their own churches have failed to provide a safe space to ask and answer these questions? And when turning the lens on our own congregation and movement, to what extent do we provide sanctuary in this area of our lives, not only as a physical space of refuge, but a continuing process of reconciliation and renewal?
Second: We need to rethink what we mean by “sex.” We often confine sex to engaging in intercourse, or some form of genital contact. But what of our hands, our eyes, our mouths, our entire bodies? What of our thoughts and feelings and sensations? By confining the erotic to the mere genital, how much do we disembody sexuality from the rest of our selves, and reduce sex to a mere “thing” that we do? Consider how we express this in our language – how we talk about “having sex” with someone, instead of being sexual – and how your very thoughts and feelings might change if you likewise made that change in phrasing.
Third: We need to rethink the prerequisites for relating sexually with another. By this, I certainly do not mean that we should divorce the erotic from the emotional. On the contrary, I believe our world would be a better place if we engaged in more emotional investment – more caring, more consideration, more respect, more passion – in all we do. What I do question is the insistence that sexual expression requires such a highly idealized level of emotional commitment between partners. Mutual respect, mutual affection and mutual joy – absolutely! But why demand perfection, and then make people feel like failures when they can’t achieve it?
The fourth challenge I wish to offer is perhaps the most daunting: We need to continually question our own individual sexualities. In our effort to be an inclusive community, our acronym of sexual identities has increasingly expanded, and includes a “Q” for “questioning.” But, what if we were, all of us, always questioning, and in the process of doing so, always growing, changing, exploring and discovering?
I was fortunate to have parents who taught me very early about gays and lesbians, and in a nonjudgmental manner. As a teenager, I decided to take the step of deliberately questioning my own sexual orientation, even though I felt quite certain about it. I emerged still identifying as a heterosexual male, but with a deeper appreciation of the difficult process of coming out, and a healthier attitude towards gender roles and gender identity – that one needn’t be “macho” to be masculine.
What I regret is that I did not take this process even further, along other dimensions of sexuality, daring to explore the unconventional side of Eros until much later in life. Now that I have – and continue to do so -- I feel more whole, my sexuality more integrated in all aspects of my humanity, a part of me instead of apart from me. I have a greater appreciation for both the diversity and the unity of Eros, that our different sexualities cannot be so easily boxed into discreet categories, but fall along a continuum of possibilities. Most important, I have come to transcend merely thinking and believing at an intellectual level, to feel and know more profoundly through my physical, emotional and spiritual experiences of the erotic.
And so I stand before you, an example of the metanoia – that state of being transformed in the renewal of one’s mind – that can come from an authentic integration of sexuality and spirituality. My journey is certainly not complete, and it is one which humbles me. But with great challenges come great rewards, and if we are to help heal the wounds of the world, let us start with ourselves.
Jesus Christ. The Buddha. The Prophet Mohammed. Lao Tzu.
What do you think of when you hear these names? Their spiritual teachings? The examples of their lives? I’ll wager that the last thing you think about is their lives as sexual human beings, with desires and passions like our own.
This is just one example of how our culture – even in so-called liberal quarters – persists in dividing sexuality and spirituality from one another. Eros, as passionate and primal love, was demoted by early Christian theologians who claimed that the “higher” spiritual love of agape was the ideal to which all people should aspire. In fact, this so-called split between physical passion and spiritual love owes more to the influence of Manichean and Stoic dualism on the thought of Augustine and other church fathers, and ignores how the Bible not only includes the Song of Solomon, but in many places uses the terms agape and eros interchangeably.
Granted, we have come a long way since then, both in theory and in practice. There is the fact that I can stand here and deliver this homily, in one of many churches which welcome people of all sexual and gender identities. Then there is our denomination’s shared work with the United Church of Christ in creating and presenting one of the most widely praised sexuality education series, “Our Whole Lives.” But it’s hard to overcome centuries of anti-sex dualism. Ours is still a rarified atmosphere here at Arlington Street Church, and much of the surrounding American culture would prefer not to talk seriously about sexuality, or to do so in embarrassed, even shameful whispers. Even supposedly progressive and enlightened individuals can be, and often are, reticent to discuss and come to terms with various aspects of human sexual expression.
This is the challenge to progressive spiritual communities such as ours. If sexuality is as important an aspect of our being as any other, then is it not as much spiritual as anything else? If it is a source of joy, pleasure and connection, then should we not then see it as a means by which we may embody the Divine within and amongst ourselves? And if we wish, in the words of lesbian feminist theologian Virginia Ramey Mollenkott, to reclaim Eros as a spiritual urge, then should we not dare to rethink the very presumptions by which we view the myriad ways that we and our fellow human beings express and connect through sexuality?
First: We need to create a safe space where people can talk about sexuality. In her book Our Tribe, Reverend Nancy Wilson talked about how, whenever representatives of the Metropolitan Community Church would attend meetings of the National Council of Churches, they would become impromptu counselors on sexuality and relationships, often having NCC delegates and staff knocking on their hotel room doors in the middle of the night, painfully in need of someone to talk to. Set aside the presumption that openly gay or lesbian people are somehow instant experts on sex. Why would people, many of them trained clergy and pastoral counselors themselves, turn to relative strangers in the middle of the night for advice and information on sex? Could it be that their own churches have failed to provide a safe space to ask and answer these questions? And when turning the lens on our own congregation and movement, to what extent do we provide sanctuary in this area of our lives, not only as a physical space of refuge, but a continuing process of reconciliation and renewal?
Second: We need to rethink what we mean by “sex.” We often confine sex to engaging in intercourse, or some form of genital contact. But what of our hands, our eyes, our mouths, our entire bodies? What of our thoughts and feelings and sensations? By confining the erotic to the mere genital, how much do we disembody sexuality from the rest of our selves, and reduce sex to a mere “thing” that we do? Consider how we express this in our language – how we talk about “having sex” with someone, instead of being sexual – and how your very thoughts and feelings might change if you likewise made that change in phrasing.
Third: We need to rethink the prerequisites for relating sexually with another. By this, I certainly do not mean that we should divorce the erotic from the emotional. On the contrary, I believe our world would be a better place if we engaged in more emotional investment – more caring, more consideration, more respect, more passion – in all we do. What I do question is the insistence that sexual expression requires such a highly idealized level of emotional commitment between partners. Mutual respect, mutual affection and mutual joy – absolutely! But why demand perfection, and then make people feel like failures when they can’t achieve it?
The fourth challenge I wish to offer is perhaps the most daunting: We need to continually question our own individual sexualities. In our effort to be an inclusive community, our acronym of sexual identities has increasingly expanded, and includes a “Q” for “questioning.” But, what if we were, all of us, always questioning, and in the process of doing so, always growing, changing, exploring and discovering?
I was fortunate to have parents who taught me very early about gays and lesbians, and in a nonjudgmental manner. As a teenager, I decided to take the step of deliberately questioning my own sexual orientation, even though I felt quite certain about it. I emerged still identifying as a heterosexual male, but with a deeper appreciation of the difficult process of coming out, and a healthier attitude towards gender roles and gender identity – that one needn’t be “macho” to be masculine.
What I regret is that I did not take this process even further, along other dimensions of sexuality, daring to explore the unconventional side of Eros until much later in life. Now that I have – and continue to do so -- I feel more whole, my sexuality more integrated in all aspects of my humanity, a part of me instead of apart from me. I have a greater appreciation for both the diversity and the unity of Eros, that our different sexualities cannot be so easily boxed into discreet categories, but fall along a continuum of possibilities. Most important, I have come to transcend merely thinking and believing at an intellectual level, to feel and know more profoundly through my physical, emotional and spiritual experiences of the erotic.
And so I stand before you, an example of the metanoia – that state of being transformed in the renewal of one’s mind – that can come from an authentic integration of sexuality and spirituality. My journey is certainly not complete, and it is one which humbles me. But with great challenges come great rewards, and if we are to help heal the wounds of the world, let us start with ourselves.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Tiger Woods: A Lesson in Idolatry
The media loves a good scandal, so we shouldn’t be surprised that so much attention has been focused on Tiger Woods’ sexual shenanigans. Add to it the ability to interact online, and the fire continues to be fed, from preaching to off-color jokes to those jaded critics of media overload screaming: “Enough already!”
And questions – lots of them. What will happen to Tiger? Will his wife rewrite their prenup, or just plain leave? What does this say about sports, celebrity, media? More importantly: What does this say about us?
Like all celebrities, Tiger Woods was put up on a pedestal. We didn’t just respect his skill as a golfer, we practically revered him. We made him an idol. When that idol let us down, we tore him down. And, as with all forms of idolatry, we brought ourselves down in the process.
Idolatry to me is not merely the worship of a false god, or putting Creation ahead of the Creator. It is more deeply and profoundly the transposition of means and ends; it is becoming so focused and fixated on the means by which we seek to achieve our highest goals, that we forget those ideal ends themselves.
Tiger Woods is an incredible athlete, both for his talent and his discipline. When we lifted him up as a role model, it was with the hope that our young people would also strive to do the same – to find what they love to do, and develop the discipline to aspire to excellence. Too often, however, we simply admired him rather than aspired for ourselves. One has to wonder if this was the case with the women who became entangled in this mess, not to mention those who enabled Tiger’s destructive course of behavior. Was the idea of being close to Tiger, of being able to satisfy his whims, so powerfully addictive that it became more important than the very principles and values which he seemed to embody?
And what of Tiger himself? Did the adulation of fans, the culture of instant gratification which surrounds so many celebrities, cause him to steer off track? I’m not trying to excuse his behavior, but to understand it. How does a man who learned from his father the discipline necessary to become the youngest Masters winner in history, make such a mess of his personal life?
Idolatry is all too easy, not only for the celebrities who can get whatever (or whomever) they want on a whim, but for all of us caught up in the illusions of our consumer culture. It is, to borrow from Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a form of cheap grace – an illusion that all we aspire for and desire is easily accessible, “sold on the market like cheapjacks’ wares” without considering their true cost.
Tiger Woods had plenty of people around him to encourage, enable and (until now) cover up his indiscretions. Let’s hope he will now surround himself with people who can help him get back on track and heal the damage done to his family. More importantly, let us all strive to find the courage and develop the discipline to deal with the myriad ways in which idolatry has infected our culture and our souls.
And questions – lots of them. What will happen to Tiger? Will his wife rewrite their prenup, or just plain leave? What does this say about sports, celebrity, media? More importantly: What does this say about us?
Like all celebrities, Tiger Woods was put up on a pedestal. We didn’t just respect his skill as a golfer, we practically revered him. We made him an idol. When that idol let us down, we tore him down. And, as with all forms of idolatry, we brought ourselves down in the process.
Idolatry to me is not merely the worship of a false god, or putting Creation ahead of the Creator. It is more deeply and profoundly the transposition of means and ends; it is becoming so focused and fixated on the means by which we seek to achieve our highest goals, that we forget those ideal ends themselves.
Tiger Woods is an incredible athlete, both for his talent and his discipline. When we lifted him up as a role model, it was with the hope that our young people would also strive to do the same – to find what they love to do, and develop the discipline to aspire to excellence. Too often, however, we simply admired him rather than aspired for ourselves. One has to wonder if this was the case with the women who became entangled in this mess, not to mention those who enabled Tiger’s destructive course of behavior. Was the idea of being close to Tiger, of being able to satisfy his whims, so powerfully addictive that it became more important than the very principles and values which he seemed to embody?
And what of Tiger himself? Did the adulation of fans, the culture of instant gratification which surrounds so many celebrities, cause him to steer off track? I’m not trying to excuse his behavior, but to understand it. How does a man who learned from his father the discipline necessary to become the youngest Masters winner in history, make such a mess of his personal life?
Idolatry is all too easy, not only for the celebrities who can get whatever (or whomever) they want on a whim, but for all of us caught up in the illusions of our consumer culture. It is, to borrow from Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a form of cheap grace – an illusion that all we aspire for and desire is easily accessible, “sold on the market like cheapjacks’ wares” without considering their true cost.
Tiger Woods had plenty of people around him to encourage, enable and (until now) cover up his indiscretions. Let’s hope he will now surround himself with people who can help him get back on track and heal the damage done to his family. More importantly, let us all strive to find the courage and develop the discipline to deal with the myriad ways in which idolatry has infected our culture and our souls.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
The Forest of the Soul
[This is the text of the sermon I delivered at Arlington Street Church, Boston MA, July 5th 2009]
Growing up in the suburbs of New Jersey, my brother and I attended an elementary school which was partly surrounded by woods. The principal and the teachers often admonished us never to go in there during recess; after all, they were obligated to keep an eye on us, and could not do so through the dense cover of trees. Yet there were those of us who loved to explore the woods, learning every path and landmark within, taking shortcuts through it between home and school. We laughed and made fun of those who took the teachers’ warnings so very seriously, those fraidy cats! Yet perhaps it was their very fear of the woods which gave us, in their eyes, an almost outlaw cachet.
Those woods are still there. I searched online to find a satellite map of my old school, and sure enough, those lush green canopies still surround the campus. How it stirs my heart! How I wonder if others are as drawn to those woods so lovely, dark and deep.
Such primeval landscapes have a sublime draw to our spirits. As pagan author Morgan La Fey says in her article “Sacred Trees”:
So it is with the landscape of our souls, where the shadows of our more primal selves seem very much like those dense, deep woods – attractive to some, while others hesitate to even set foot inside.
Why do we hesitate? Perhaps it is because we have been taught to think of the soul or spirit as divine light, distinct from and even transcending the material or “mundane” world. By extension, we tend to react to the idea of darkness as a metaphor for evil. But when we speak of a literal forest as dark, we do not mean it is literally evil. No, we mean that it is hard to see into it, from the dense foliage blocking outside sources of light. It is in this sense that psychologists like Jung refer to our shadow selves, hidden from the light of conscious thought.
So often we think of emotions like fear, anger and want as inherently negative, even destructive – and surely they can be. But they also have their place in human life, and can even be utilized for good. We can be fearful of harm, angry at injustice, and wanting of love. What we must caution against is allowing such feelings to be all-consuming – to let fear become blind terror, anger become blind rage, and want become blind addiction.
The question is not simply whether we repress or unleash those parts of ourselves which are hidden, but whether we can acknowledge and draw from them – or, to borrow the language of Carl Jung, whether we can “own” them. It was Jung in fact who warned that, as we continue to disown our shadow, to deny and repress it, we begin to project it onto others. Imagine trying to contain a forest, only to have the untamed plants and animals within it start to encroach on our so-called “civilized” territory. Or, we can learn to live with and learn from the forest, with humility and appreciation.
One area for me is the fear invoked by my father. Dad has a temper – the bellowing, throw-things-against-the-wall kind of temper that would scare the pants off of anyone. One weekend at their house, he couldn’t get his computer printer to work, and erupted, actually hurling a big bottle of soda on the floor in front of me.
I was scared, yet strangely calm. Holding out my hands, I said: “O-o-okay, I’m going to put the cats outside and go for a walk before you kill one of us.”
That shook him. He stood there, all six feet five inches of him, dumbfounded, utterly quiet. He didn’t have to apologize – the expression on his face said it all.
Two things happened after that. First, I’ve never seen him lose his temper like that again. Angry, yes – but not out of control. Second, we’ve been able to talk on more equal footing, with less distance. In a sense, we unwittingly healed one another, by prompting each to become aware of that within us which we would rather not face, so that we could better come to terms with them, and with one another.
It reminds me of one of the great mythic tales, that of Percival and the Grail King, the young adventurer and the wounded old man. Here, from his interview program with Bill Moyers, “The Power of Myth”, is how the late Joseph Campbell sums it up:
And, by the way, before Percival was trained as a knight and instructed to stifle questions and curiosity, he had been raised by his mother apart from courtly society – in a forest. And, the Grail castle which he visits is surrounded by a wasteland which, once the Grail king has been healed, is likewise rejuvenated into … a forest.
We are often given rules for living with others in society, and surely there is reason to understand and respect such customs. But there is also need to return to the very core of our humanity – our compassion, our desires, our fears, and even our anger – rather than let ourselves be so bound to tradition that we cannot heal one another and make ourselves whole.
One of those rules, borne of our Western ideal of individualism, is to neither intrude into the lives of others, nor burden others with the details of our own lives. Yet what are the consequences of living this way, isolated from one another? Go into the forest, and you’ll see that every plant and animal depends upon one another, with even the mighty trees depending on lowly bugs and worms to break down waste matter and replenish the soil. So it is with our humanity, for we are meant to live in community, not in isolation. Children starved of embrace and touch, suffer just as much as if they were starved of food. How, then, do we starve one another when we fail to ask in compassion: “What ails you, friend?”
When Percival failed to ask this question, he awoke the next day in an empty castle, utterly alone. It took a wild woman – a woman of the forest – to show him that this was a sign that his adventure had failed, and that he must begin his quest anew.
My friends, let us begin our quest anew. Let us help to make one another whole, to bring together shadow and light, cultivated homes and primeval forest. In seeking to build the beloved community, let us not be afraid to bring – and to welcome – all of ourselves, so that we may realize more fully how we may sustain one another, grow together, and heal ourselves and our world.
AMEN AND BLESSED BE
Growing up in the suburbs of New Jersey, my brother and I attended an elementary school which was partly surrounded by woods. The principal and the teachers often admonished us never to go in there during recess; after all, they were obligated to keep an eye on us, and could not do so through the dense cover of trees. Yet there were those of us who loved to explore the woods, learning every path and landmark within, taking shortcuts through it between home and school. We laughed and made fun of those who took the teachers’ warnings so very seriously, those fraidy cats! Yet perhaps it was their very fear of the woods which gave us, in their eyes, an almost outlaw cachet.
Those woods are still there. I searched online to find a satellite map of my old school, and sure enough, those lush green canopies still surround the campus. How it stirs my heart! How I wonder if others are as drawn to those woods so lovely, dark and deep.
Such primeval landscapes have a sublime draw to our spirits. As pagan author Morgan La Fey says in her article “Sacred Trees”:
When walking through a warm and lush forest setting one's thoughts can easily take flights of fancy. It is not difficult to shed the layers of modern life and find one's more subtle or primitive beginnings. Somewhere from deep within the spirit and majesty of each single tree steps forth and at once one can find themselves transported to a world of shadow and shade.
So it is with the landscape of our souls, where the shadows of our more primal selves seem very much like those dense, deep woods – attractive to some, while others hesitate to even set foot inside.
Why do we hesitate? Perhaps it is because we have been taught to think of the soul or spirit as divine light, distinct from and even transcending the material or “mundane” world. By extension, we tend to react to the idea of darkness as a metaphor for evil. But when we speak of a literal forest as dark, we do not mean it is literally evil. No, we mean that it is hard to see into it, from the dense foliage blocking outside sources of light. It is in this sense that psychologists like Jung refer to our shadow selves, hidden from the light of conscious thought.
So often we think of emotions like fear, anger and want as inherently negative, even destructive – and surely they can be. But they also have their place in human life, and can even be utilized for good. We can be fearful of harm, angry at injustice, and wanting of love. What we must caution against is allowing such feelings to be all-consuming – to let fear become blind terror, anger become blind rage, and want become blind addiction.
The question is not simply whether we repress or unleash those parts of ourselves which are hidden, but whether we can acknowledge and draw from them – or, to borrow the language of Carl Jung, whether we can “own” them. It was Jung in fact who warned that, as we continue to disown our shadow, to deny and repress it, we begin to project it onto others. Imagine trying to contain a forest, only to have the untamed plants and animals within it start to encroach on our so-called “civilized” territory. Or, we can learn to live with and learn from the forest, with humility and appreciation.
One area for me is the fear invoked by my father. Dad has a temper – the bellowing, throw-things-against-the-wall kind of temper that would scare the pants off of anyone. One weekend at their house, he couldn’t get his computer printer to work, and erupted, actually hurling a big bottle of soda on the floor in front of me.
I was scared, yet strangely calm. Holding out my hands, I said: “O-o-okay, I’m going to put the cats outside and go for a walk before you kill one of us.”
That shook him. He stood there, all six feet five inches of him, dumbfounded, utterly quiet. He didn’t have to apologize – the expression on his face said it all.
Two things happened after that. First, I’ve never seen him lose his temper like that again. Angry, yes – but not out of control. Second, we’ve been able to talk on more equal footing, with less distance. In a sense, we unwittingly healed one another, by prompting each to become aware of that within us which we would rather not face, so that we could better come to terms with them, and with one another.
It reminds me of one of the great mythic tales, that of Percival and the Grail King, the young adventurer and the wounded old man. Here, from his interview program with Bill Moyers, “The Power of Myth”, is how the late Joseph Campbell sums it up:
Now, when Percival comes to the Grail castle, he meets the Grail King, who is brought in on a litter, wounded, kept alive simply by the presence of the Grail. Percival’s compassion moves him to ask, “What ails you, Uncle?” But he doesn’t ask the question because he has been taught by his instructor that a knight doesn’t ask unnecessary questions. So he obeys the rule, and the adventure fails.
And then it takes him five years of ordeals and embarrassments and all kinds of things to get back to that castle and ask the question that heals the king and heals society. The question is an expression, not of the rules of the society, but of compassion, the natural opening of the human heart to another human being. That’s the Grail.
And, by the way, before Percival was trained as a knight and instructed to stifle questions and curiosity, he had been raised by his mother apart from courtly society – in a forest. And, the Grail castle which he visits is surrounded by a wasteland which, once the Grail king has been healed, is likewise rejuvenated into … a forest.
We are often given rules for living with others in society, and surely there is reason to understand and respect such customs. But there is also need to return to the very core of our humanity – our compassion, our desires, our fears, and even our anger – rather than let ourselves be so bound to tradition that we cannot heal one another and make ourselves whole.
One of those rules, borne of our Western ideal of individualism, is to neither intrude into the lives of others, nor burden others with the details of our own lives. Yet what are the consequences of living this way, isolated from one another? Go into the forest, and you’ll see that every plant and animal depends upon one another, with even the mighty trees depending on lowly bugs and worms to break down waste matter and replenish the soil. So it is with our humanity, for we are meant to live in community, not in isolation. Children starved of embrace and touch, suffer just as much as if they were starved of food. How, then, do we starve one another when we fail to ask in compassion: “What ails you, friend?”
When Percival failed to ask this question, he awoke the next day in an empty castle, utterly alone. It took a wild woman – a woman of the forest – to show him that this was a sign that his adventure had failed, and that he must begin his quest anew.
My friends, let us begin our quest anew. Let us help to make one another whole, to bring together shadow and light, cultivated homes and primeval forest. In seeking to build the beloved community, let us not be afraid to bring – and to welcome – all of ourselves, so that we may realize more fully how we may sustain one another, grow together, and heal ourselves and our world.
AMEN AND BLESSED BE
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
