Nearly-equal rights. Still second-class citizenship.

This is the story (so far) of our civil union in New Jersey, and why I am not, in fact, excited about it.

My wife and I recently moved to New Jersey for her work. After we arrived, I started researching NJ's domestic partnership and civil union laws.

Reflections on Marriage

This is an excellent article. My thanks to Nif for pointing it out. - sm

Reflections on Marriage:

Today, many same-sex couples in the United States live in a fraught, contingent space of loving attachment, unprotected by state recognition. My fierce commitment to marriage equality derives, in part, from my personal biography as an interracial child, descended from American slaves, and raised in Virginia, beginning less than a decade after the Loving decision. Even though I am heterosexual, marriage equality is personal. I learn from the history of racial and interracial marriage exclusion that the denial of marriage rights to same-sex couples is wrong.

....

We must do more than simply integrate new groups into an old system. Let's use this moment to re-imagine marriage and marriage-free options for building families, rearing children, crafting communities, and distributing public goods.

More on marriage equality

I found myself writing recently, a little unexpectedly, about some of my experiences with marriage inequality, and why marriage equality matters when it comes to real-life, practical details.

Well, I'm finding myself even deeper, more face-to-face, with marriage inequality right now, and it's very, very frustrating.

I'm a reluctant marriage equality advocate, let me admit that.

Not the National Coming Out Day conversation I expected

If you're on Facebook, you may have noticed a number of folks over the last few weeks with standardized status updates that read:

[Name] is (a lesbian/gay/bisexual/transgender). There are X days until National Coming Out Day and I pledge to have heartfelt conversations for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender equality. Donate your status and join me by clicking here: http://apps.facebook.com/equalityconversation/.

I didn't donate my status -- for one, I rarely do apps, since I like my privacy -- but I did post one or two status updates to this effect.

I'm always surprised when people who know me at all well are surprised to find out I'm a lesbian. It's less startling, but still frustrating, when people are surprised I'm bi, because there's still an assumption of monosexuality in this culture: either you're homosexual or you're heterosexual. Folks who are startled to learn I'm bi either know I've had successful romantic relationships with men and assume those are invalid now (because I must be monosexual), or assume that because I have been involved only with women since they've known me and am not that interested in men, I must be monosexual.

But those are still the conversations I more or less expect to have. The kind where I refer to my partner or spouse in conversation at an event, the other person asks what my husband does, and I say, "My wife is a mathematician," and they blink. The kind where someone I've known for a long time says in shock, "You had a husband!?," and I say, "Yes, my first partner was male, and yes, I was out before we got together. He took me to my first Pride event."

But these conversations have progressed and changed over time. For example, more and more over the last few years, the conversations I've been having around the fact that I'm a lesbian center around civil rights, and especially marriage equality.

And while there's one little thread on my Facebook Wall about National Coming Out Day and how people identify and what labels mean (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer), there's another, completely different, conversation I've ended up having about the reality of my life as a lesbian in today's society.

And it really does feel like a coming-out conversation: Here is my reality. Here is the truth of my experience.

And as with many other such conversations over the years, I'm finding someone I'm talking with disbelieves the uncomfortable truth.

This person isn't a bigot. They seem to be a well-meaning straight person, but someone who just doesn't want to believe the discrimination I live with every day is as bad as I say -- that their legally-sanctioned heterosexual privilege is, in fact, just that.

(All names changed but mine; all quotes paraphrased except where indicated.)

The conversation has gone something like this:

• Friend A posts to their Facebook status that they're grateful to the marriage equality movement for helping them understand how many rights and privileges go with legal marriage [which this person has].

Conversation ensues in the comment thread, and then it gets interesting:

• Person B: I thought it was just the death tax that can't be addressed in a contract; what other rights can't they have?; of course anyone should marry whomever they want!; isn't Toys R Us great, they give domestic partners full health insurance.

• Person C: Oh, no, there's the whole hospital visitation thing; do you want to wrangle with a resistant family member in order to say goodbye to a dying partner?

• Person B: Wrong! If you have a living will and a signed and notorized agreement, the family can't keep you away!

• Person C: Uh-huh. So, my husband's in the hospital, and I have to dig out my legal paperwork before I go to the hospital?; in my case, take the bus home from work, find the paperwork, and drive back into town, when on top of it I'm probably not safe to drive?; assuming we've gone to the expense and trouble of getting such paperwork?; oh, and by the way, because we're an opposite-gender couple, they're not going to ask us for a copy of our marriage license, and we're in less need of powers of attorney and living wills, because we're legally married.

• Person B: Gosh, it's really awful when family members are jerks, and I'm really sorry for anyone who has to deal with that; but you do kind of know what you're getting into; spending $100 on a contract is nothing at all for the peace of mind it gives you, and of course if I had to do that, I'd know exactly where my paperwork is; so what else are the issues?, I know there aren't a lot of people who have to worry about taxes on huge estates.

• Me (direct quote):

The growth of political violence in the United States

I have been working on this entry for several days. Today I learned of the murders of most of the members of the Flores family in a home invasion by members of an anti-immmigration vigilante group. - sm

When I was an undergraduate, in the late 80s and early 90s, I rather unexpectedly did a lot of research on terrorism.

At UMBC, I started to understand not only what a loaded word "terrorism" is, but how culturally programmed. The professors who team-taught my political science class in Third World Politics challenged us to pay attention whenever we heard or read the word "terrorism" being used -- to notice who was using it, and whom they were describing. In addition, they challenged us to replace the term "terrorism" with the term "political violence" whenever we read it or heard it, and see what that did to our thinking and perceptions.

When I got back to Bryn Mawr, I took social psychology with Clark McCauley, one of whose specialties is the study of terrorism/political violence. Also an eye-opening experience.

You have to understand, this was before September 11, 2001. The majority of what Americans called "terrorism" back then was divided into two kinds: "terrorism from above," or state-sponsored terrorism, and "terrorism from below," or guerilla warfare/terrorism. The places Americans talked about this happening in were in the "First World" and the "Third World" -- the Middle East, Africa, Europe, South and Central America. Not the US -- not yet.

But my point is that we talked about both kinds. The political violence of guerrilla groups in Lebanon, Nicaragua, Iran, El Salvador, and the Occupied Palestinian Territories populated the news, as terrorism-from-below. But state-sponsored political violence -- particularly from repressive regimes and military governments such as the Soviet Union, East Germany, and El Salvador -- was recognized as terrorism-from-above back then. The massacre in Tiananmen Square made huge news in the West. The terrorism of the Soviet Union was still active in the news through the late 80s. Even the shootings at Kent State were still understood as state-sponsored terrorism. I could go on.

Nowadays, when we talk about "terrorism," we talk primarily about violence-from-below, rather than about state-sponsored terrorism. And we very often talk about religious extremists. But they're usually people who are either far away or from far away, whose skin is not white, and who are not Christians.

We rarely talk about people right here in the US whose political violence should rightly be called terrorism -- especially not if they are are white, right-wing, or supposedly Christian.

In the summer of 1992, I worked with McCauley doing preliminary research that was part of a larger project of his, on the question of what helps prevent violence-from-below in political movements. Many political movements start out espousing non-violence, but many of them come to resort to violent tactics -- against first property, and then people. What makes that change acceptable to some groups but not others? What factors protect or insulate a movement against that change?

He wanted me to study a group that, unlike the New Left and the environmental movement, was still non-violent, and had an unprecedented paper trail -- the ecofeminist movement.

(I pretty much said to him: I'm a feminist, and I'm a Witch, and you want me to spend three months reading eco-feminism and related material, writing about it, and talking with you about it. Twist. My. Arm.)

So I read a lot of primary materials from the New Left, the anti-nuclear movement, different aspects of the environmental movement, the women's spirituality movement, and eco-feminism.

The ecofeminist movement, it turned out, didn't meet all of the requirements for McCauley's larger project -- for one thing, a great many of the movers and shakers of the ecofeminist movement had been previously involved in the New Left, and many ecofeminists were part of the anti-nuclear movement.

(Reading Robin Morgan's accounts of her time in the New Left was... illustrative. Interestingly, she also went on to write about terrorism and political violence.)

But, the ecofeminist movement did provide some useful insights. As, in a way, did the New Left, by contrast.

In all the material I read, one thing stood out over and over as a protective against the development of violence in a political movement:

Refusing to dehumanize the enemy.

Not only did the eco-feminist movement consistently refuse to demonize the enemy, its adherents insisted on finding ways to see opponents as human, as real people -- and even as an embodiment of the Divine. It could be something as simple as going around a circle at the end of the day in an action, each participant naming something that emphasized the human quality of someone with whom they'd come into conflict that day. It could be making sure to address a police officer or soldier by name, not merely title or rank. It could be making a practice of asking opponents about their families. It often included ritual and magic, and could be as intimate and formal as taking time in circle to name "enemies" and affirm, "Sergeant Jones, thou art God," "Jane Smith, thou art Goddess," as well as naming allies and those present, affirming, "Sara, thou art Goddess," "Tom, thou art God."

Why am I writing about this now?

A Friend of mine shared a link to an interview with David Neiwert about violence in political movements and about his new book, The Eliminationists: How Hate Talk Radicalized the American Right. (Click here for publisher's web site.)

Neiwert discusses recent terrorism in the United States: in the wake of the suppression of a Department of Homeland Security report warning about a potential upsurge of right-wing political violence, we have the assassination of an abortion provider, the uncovering of a plot to assassinate President Obama, and a killing at the Holocaust Museum. [And now, the murder of a family of Hispanic immigrants.]

And Neiwert also talks about the factors that encourage that political violence/terrorism, and some ways to resist it.

As I've been reading the interview, I've found myself saying to myself, Yes, yes, yes.

Some things that have stood out to me:

Joshua Holland: There is a lot of ugly discourse in this country, and there always has been. What makes eliminationist rhetoric different from the kind of run-of-the-mill nasty stuff that we see on all sides of the political spectrum?

David Neiwert: Right -- there is a lot of hateful rhetoric that floats around on both sides. What's unique about eliminationist rhetoric is that it talks about eliminating whole blocs of people from the body politic, whereas most of the hateful rhetoric, in the case of people on the left, is directed at an individual -- George Bush or Dick Cheney and various characters on the right. That's one of the key differences -- when right-wing people talk hatefully, it often is directed at entire groups of people: Latinos, African Americans, gays and lesbians or liberals.
JH: People they deem to be inferior.

DN: Deemed inferior, or not even human. That is a critical aspect of eliminationist rhetoric. It often depicts the opposition as subhuman -- comparing them with vermin, diseases or carriers of diseases. I think for me the classic historical expression of eliminationism in America was Col. [John] Chivington's remarks prior to the Sand Creek Massacre, where he urged the white Colorado militiamen to kill all the Indians they encountered, including women and children. He said, "nits make lice." That to me is pretty much a classic eliminationist statement.

Something I saw over and over in my research for McCauley's project was that when groups start seeing opponents or members of other groups as not-human, that's when violence becomes acceptable. And starting to lump opponents together into groups, rather than seeing individuals, contributes to this.

This is one reason I react strongly whenever I hear anyone refer to cops as "pigs." I grew up in a large city that had problems with police violence; it's not naivete on my part. I've also worked with amazing people in law enforcement during my humanitarian work. But calling cops "pigs" -- or calling union-busters, or even anti-choice murderers or anti-immigrant murderers "pigs" -- is not okay with me, because it's dehumanization. Seeing cops, even security guards, as "pigs" is part of what sent the New Left down the slippery slope from non-violence to violence. Dehumanization opens a door in the psyche to violence.

One of the things that I learned while studying hate crimes is that the vast majority of hate crimes are committed by ordinary people, not by members of hate groups. Yet it's also the case that the vast majority of hate crimes are accompanied by hate-group rhetoric. So in a lot of ways hate crimes are a manifestation of the way right-wing extremism has permeated the broader culture. But more than that, these ordinary people also believe -- and I might add this includes the white supremacists -- that what they are doing reflects the secret desires, the unspoken wishes of the community that they believe they are defending.
When you stand up to them, when you engage in the act of standing up to them, that knocks that plank right out from under them, because when the community stands up and says, "No, these are not our values, this is not what we believe in, what you are doing is wrong," that takes that belief away.

I am reminded of the power of collective action. I am reminded of a recent article in the New York Times, "At Last, Facing Down Bullies (And Their Enablers)," which talks about the pioneering and successful work of Dr. Dan Olweus in mobilizing bystanders to counteract and prevent bullying.

I am reminded of the collective response of the San Francisco gay community on the night of the murders of Harvey Milk and George Moscone, and of Holly Near's song "Gentle Angry People":

We are a gentle, angry people
And we are singing, singing for our lives...

I am reminded of my peace witness trip to the Middle East. I am reminded of successful reconciliation work I've witnessed and learned of, in the US and abroad, between family members, political enemies, and survivors and perpetrators of violence.

Neiwert talks about the importance of engagement, of not demonizing the enemy -- and of not heroizing one's self:

So when we engage them, I think it is fundamentally important that we try not to see ourselves as heroes, that we don't turn them into the enemy but rather people like us, human beings who have frailties and have flaws and engage them in a real way, because that is how we are going to pull them over.
We are not going to change people's minds by pointing at them and calling them bad people. We are going to change people's minds by taking care to honestly engage them as one human being to another. That is the only way I think that we really can succeed.

The kind of engagement that Neiwert and other activists for peace, justice, and non-violence are talking about is hard work. It requires a particular combination, of an open heart and self-protection, and that does not necessarily come easily.

But it can be learned, it can be supported, it can be done -- and it can create change.

What are we going to do -- you, and I -- to contribute towards this kind of engagement, this kind of change?

How are we creating magic?

How are we nourishing openings to grace?

How are we nourishing That-of-God and That-of-the-Goddess in each other?

What are we doing to prevent violence?

My Pagan Values, My Quaker Values

Pax over at Chrysalis blog had the idea for Pagan bloggers world-wide to take some time in June to blog about Pagan values. He points out, rightly, that folks in particular other traditions, especially here in the US, dominate the public discourse about values.

I found this immediately appealing. Both because it irritates me a great deal when the Christian religious right pretends it has "values" all sewn up, and because I'm curious about what other Pagans I haven't already read have to say.

I know, in general, what values my spiritual communities and the people in them hold, as well as the values the traditions that have influenced me hold. But modern Paganism, or modern neo-Paganism, is an umbrella term for a very broad, very diverse range of experiences, expressions, traditions, and beliefs. And I'm curious about what values other Pagans hold, and I'm curious about how that's developed over the 18 years that I've been "out" as a Witch.

But first off, what do I mean by Pagan?

I like to borrow the Pagan Pride Project's definition -- or set of definitions -- of "What Is a Pagan?" It's not perfect, but it is definitely a good "functional definition."

A Pagan or NeoPagan is someone who self-identifies as a Pagan, and whose spiritual or religious practice or belief fits into one or more of the following categories:

• Honoring, revering, or worshipping a Deity or Deities found in pre-Christian, classical, aboriginal, or tribal mythology; and/or
• Practicing religion or spirituality based upon shamanism, shamanic, or magickal practices; and/or
• Creating new religion based on past Pagan religions and/or futuristic views of society, community, and/or ecology;
• Focusing religious or spiritual attention primarily on the Divine Feminine; and/or
• Practicing religion that focuses on earth based spirituality.

As you can see, it's a pretty broad definition/set of definitions.

And it can include folks who are part of relatively mainstream congregations, folks who have created or are part of exclusively Pagan congregations, folks who aren't part of any religious or spiritual groups, folks who are Non-Theists or Atheists... And more.

A lot of people describe discovering that they're Pagan very similarly to how they describe what it was like to discover that they're lesbian, bi, gay, queer, or transgender. It's incredibly powerful to realize:

• There are words for who I am/ what I believe/ what I experience!
• There are words for my inward truth!
  
• There are other people like me in the world!

Many Pagans do, in fact, describe it as "coming out" -- as an outward expression of inward truth.

So now that we've looked at "Pagan," let's look at "values."

Considering the Merriam-Webster definition of values, what are the things that are important to me as a Quaker Witch?

One place to start is with the list of core values we developed in my former Coven in the mid-90s:

Roses, Too! is a Coven of eclectic, feminist Witches. We hold Sabbat potlucks and semi-open ritual, usually on the Saturday (or Sunday) closest to the holiday. Our spiritual backgrounds are diverse: Quaker, Pagan, Jewish, Episcopalian, Congregationalist, Catholic, Atheist, and more.

As Witches, some of the values we share are:

• Respect and love for the Earth, for all living things, as the embodiment of That-Which-Is-Sacred -- as the Goddess.
• The courage and honesty to do hard spiritual and emotional work.
• The compassion to support and bear witness to each other's work.
• A commitment to justice and to non-violent political activism.
• An understanding of magic as a way to create personal, political, and cultural change.
• The recognition of the importance of fun, silliness, and play in what we do.

These are still true for me today.

Part of what had led us to form our own Coven is that while it wasn't hard, in our large East Coast city, to find other people who shared our labels as Pagans and Witches, or people who shared some of our values, it was hard to find people who shared our particular combination of values. There were interesting places to visit, but none that felt like home. (I'm sure my founding co-Priestess will make additions and corrections as needed.)

Some folks saw the Goddess, That-Which-Is-Sacred, only outside the world, not inherent in everything that lives. A number of folks we met were into the supernatural in ways we weren't. Some groups were strongly hierarchical; we were egalitarian. Most weren't able to offer support for the kinds of intensive work we both knew we needed to do in our lives. Some were too "high-churchy" for our needs; we needed something more simple. Some were more dogmatic than we were comfortable with. Not many saw the same kinds of connections we did between our spiritual lives, social justice, and work in the world. Not all Pagans or Pagan groups are committed to non-violence, although many are; not all Pagans or Pagan groups are feminist, although many are. Some groups were much too serious for either of us. Some were actually too light-hearted for us. We needed a balance between seriousness and fun.

So we formed our own Coven. Over time, both the core group and the extended Roses, Too! community grew into just that -- a wonderful, imperfect, organic community. Not all of whom identified as Pagan, or even as spiritual at all, but to whom coming together regularly on the spokes of the Wheel of the Year became important.

My values as a feminist Witch -- the ones that led me to co-found a Coven, and led me to live my life as a Witch -- are the values that led me to Quakerism.

First, on a Coven "field trip" to a Quaker-sponsored training in non-violent intervention. Folks came to this training from faith communities all over the City. We really enjoyed meeting, hanging out with, and working with other religious and spiritual people whose labels were different from ours, but who shared many of our values. (And Rob C. and I still reminisce about how we first became friends by screaming at each other in a role play more than twelve years ago.)

Second, to Meeting for Worship. Many of the people we met at the training -- including quite a few we already knew -- invited us to come to worship. For me, it started out some as intervisitation, and mostly as an experiment in a particular spiritual discipline. Almost right away, however, Meeting for Worship became a regular and deeply important part of my spiritual life.

Third, to Quaker process and testimonies, as I became more involved with the life of my Meeting and other Quaker organizations.

And then, before long, to a commitment to Quakerism as a way of life, because it's an outward expression of inward truth, because it's where the Goddess calls me to be.

The two of us who founded Roses, Too! had both gone to a small Quaker liberal arts college. (I had also gone to a mid-sized state university, another enlightening experience.) Because our alma mater doesn't exhibit much outward, obvious Quakerism, it took me a good five years after I'd graduated to realize how much Quaker enculturation I'd experienced there. One of the things I'm grateful for to this day is how Bryn Mawr provided me with an outward structure for many of the things I believed in and values I'd held before arriving there. The Academic and Social Honor Codes, along with other forms of Quaker enculturation, were things I embraced with a whole heart -- they were outward expressions of my inward truth.

So when Quakerism became my home, years later, it was because of values I'd held ever since I was old enough to articulate what was important to me -- including the values of feminist Witchcraft.

What are Quaker values? To me, they are encompassed by, and exhibited in, Quaker worship, practices, and testimonies. But I think it's fair to say that Friends' worship and Friends' practices, particularly in how we attend to our business together, are rooted in our testimonies:

• Simplicity
• Peace
• Integrity
• Community
• Equality
• Earthcare
• Stewardship

(For more about the Testimonies, click here, and then click on section 5.)

I have a connection with each of the testimonies on a gut level. Some of them are easier to explain than others; some are more accessible than others; some of them are more of a daily presence in my life than others.

In my Faith and Practice study group in my Meeting, I recently had some breakthroughs in my understanding of both Simplicity and Stewardship. (I love North Pacific Yearly Meeting's Faith and Practice; it's a gem.) Peace and Equality resonated with me from the beginning. Community and Earthcare are vital expressions of and experiences of the Goddess for me. Integrity has a near-daily presence in my life, if for no other reason than I am living my life as an out lesbian and Witch.

Each of the testimonies has something to say to me, and says something about me, as a Quaker Witch.

So, if you ask me about my Pagan values, you're going to hear about my Quaker ones, too.

And if you ask me about my Quaker values, you're going to hear about my experience of the Goddess and my values as a feminist Witch, too.

My Pagan values and my Quaker values can't be separated. My Quaker values and my Pagan values are the same.

Quakerism is how the Goddess calls me to walk through my life as a Witch.

The Peace Testimony and Armed Forces Emergency Services

This article appeared in the July, 2008 issue of Friends Journal. An earlier version appeared here. I am re-posting it, in part, in honor of Memorial Day. - sm

Disclaimer: The opinions and beliefs stated in this article are those of the author only. They do not reflect the opinions, beliefs, or positions of the American Red Cross. This article is not endorsed by the American Red Cross.

------------------------------

It’s 3:45 am when my pager wakes me. I speak to a man who is quite upset: his sister has just died – at the end of a long illness, but unexpectedly soon – and his sister’s son is on active duty in the military, stationed overseas. The caller needs to get a message to the nephew through the Red Cross so the young man can get leave for his mother’s funeral. I walk the caller through giving me all the information I need – his sister’s information, the hospice information, his nephew’s name, social security number, and military address – and promise him I’ll get back to him just as soon as I can. I call the hospice agency and page the hospice nurse, who confirms the date, time, and cause of death. I send the message through the Red Cross system and call the man back to tell him the message has been sent and that we requested that his nephew call him as soon as he receives it. I explain that because his nephew is in Iraq and the activity level there is very high right now, it may take longer for the message to go through and he may not hear from his nephew for several days.*

I’m driving home from work when my pager goes off. I pull over and talk to a woman whose son was just in a motor vehicle accident and is near death. She is very calm. She wants her daughter to come home so the family can all decide together about taking him off life support. I talk to the charge nurse in the ICU and gather all the information that command will need to decide whether or not to grant leave, including the medical team’s recommendation for the service member’s presence. I send the message, then let the family know that it’s on its way, and that I requested that a chaplain be present when the sister is notified.

I’m eating dinner when the pager beeps. I speak to a woman who’s in active labor at a local hospital and is about to give birth. She gives me her husband’s information between contractions and then passes the phone to her father-in-law when she can no longer speak. I apologetically explain I can’t send the message until the baby’s born. Her father-in-law chuckles. “Don’t worry, they’re wheeling her into delivery now!” By the time I talk to someone on staff for the verification, the baby’s been born and I can send the notification. The delighted new grandpa answers the cell phone when I call back to say the message has been sent.

------------------------------
*To protect confidentiality, none of this information comes from actual cases. These situations are compiled from typical kinds of cases.
------------------------------

I volunteer with the American Red Cross, an organization which provides humanitarian relief and assistance under a variety of circumstances. I’m active in two areas: Disaster Relief, and Armed Forces Emergency Services (AFES). As an AFES volunteer, I mostly work with military families to get emergency messages to active-duty service members: an illness or accident, death, other emergency situation, birth.

As a Friend, I first got involved with the Red Cross through Disaster Services just after September 11, 2001. Like so many of us, I had a deep need to do something – something to help, and something that expressed the Peace Testimony. What I did was answer phones, all day, every day. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was needed, and it freed up experienced, trained volunteers to go out in the field.

After Hurricane Katrina, I again found myself raging at the news, and again felt that need to do something. So I thought I’d go answer phones again. But because I have experience as a pastoral counselor and case manager and the need was so great, the local Chapter asked me to go to the Gulf Coast instead.

Five weeks after the disaster, at just one service center, in just one town, my fellow volunteers and I saw and spoke with thousands of people every day. None of us could “fix” anything for them. True, we could help them apply for financial assistance. True, we could try to connect them with services. But we couldn’t repair their lives.

Mostly, what we could do was just be there with them.

It turned out our simple presence meant much more than financial assistance to many people. “You came from where? To be here with us?”
“But you’re not getting paid?!”
“What about your family?”
“Thank you for coming down here.”
“I haven’t told anybody what happened, and it’s been more than a month.”
“We thought nobody cared about us.”

I already knew what a difference it made for me to have someone simply be with me when I was going through hard times. In Mississippi, I learned yet again that bearing witness is sacred work.

When I returned from my deployment, I stayed involved with my local Red Cross Chapter, mostly responding to local disasters. I learned it also makes a big difference to people when they know they’re not alone just after a house fire, tornado, or flood. One elderly resident of an apartment house which had been completely evacuated in the middle of the night said, “Because you all were there, we weren’t afraid.”

But then my supervisor asked me to get involved with Armed Forces Emergency Services. Our department was short-staffed, and she said I had a good background for the work. I was a little dubious about this. As a Friend, as someone who doesn’t support this war, how would I feel talking to military families in crisis? And could I do so without offering them short shrift? (Integrity. Peace.) But as a volunteer, I was there to do whatever needed to be done, so I said I’d try.

I kept thinking of a F/friend whose brother is a Marine. I kept thinking of my own surrogate brother, who’s a Marine, too.

Over time, doing AFES casework became as much an expression of the Peace Testimony for me as Disaster Relief work. I don't know that I have good words to explain how being part of providing this service, providing this ministry of presence, is, for me, a way of walking the Peace Testimony in the world; but I will try.

Let me start with the seven Fundamental Principles of the International Red Cross/Red Crescent Movement: Humanity. Impartiality. Neutrality. Independence. Voluntary Service. Unity. Universality.

I know. They sound like a bunch of very dry words. And yet each one of those Principles is quite real. Each one provides concrete guidance to Red Crossers. Each one helps me put my Quaker beliefs and convictions into action as part of a larger, completely secular, organization, side-by-side with non-Friends. Each one lets me work closely with other people who have very strong convictions, and who in ordinary life might not think we have anything at all in common.
The Fundamental Principles help us do sacred work together.

I find one key, one link, to the Peace Testimony in the Fundamental Principles. Take, for example, Humanity. With each AFES case I work, I have several opportunities to recognize and honor the humanity in another human being; to recognize and honor That-Which-Is-Sacred in each person I speak with – the spouse or parent or sibling or cousin or friend who's initiating the case; the medical administrator, nurse, doctor, police officer, funeral director, or hospice nurse with whom I verify the case; the AFES Center worker who takes the case or gives one to me.

These are opportunities to bear witness.

I find additional keys in Red Cross history. The first-ever Nobel Peace Prize, awarded in 1901, was shared by Frédéric Passy, who founded the first French peace society, and Henri Dunant, who founded the International Red Cross and initiated the Geneva Convention. The International and the American Red Cross organizations were founded in the midst of two of the bloodiest wars Europe and America had known – the Battle of Solferino in the Second War of Italian Independence, and the American Civil War – springing from a desire to help the wounded on the battlefield, without consideration for which side of a conflict any of those wounded were part.

Humanity. Neutrality. Impartiality. Independence.

Several months ago, a local Friend asked me, “Don’t you feel conflicted when you do AFES casework? Because you’re making soldiers’ lives easier?”

That thought hadn't occurred to me. So, I thought about it.

And I realized, I haven't talked to one family or one soldier whose life is anything approaching “easy” right now.

The service I offer as an AFES caseworker is one where I work with people in a time of great stress, and touch them as embodiments of That-Which-Is-Sacred. As real people. Many of the families and professionals I speak with in the course of a case are struggling to make a difference in the world. Many of the them are struggling simply to get through each day.

For the families, having a loved one in the service right now is not easy. There's not one family I've worked with that hasn't been under enormous stress because they have someone in the service right now. When someone they love is ill or dying or giving birth or being born, it doesn't matter whether or not they support this war, or any war, or their relative’s military service: they are the same people as you and me.

I guess that's the real key, what it really comes down to. Working with military families has helped me see that women and men in uniform, and the families of those women and men in uniform, are not part of a monolith or even a monoculture. Working AFES cases has helped me recognize military members and families as people who are a lot like me.

And they are people who are suffering because of this war. Some of them believe in it, some of them don't. It actually doesn't matter: they are all suffering for it, in ways those of us back home who don't have a direct connection can't understand.

"The Red Cross, born of a desire to bring assistance without discrimination to the wounded on the battlefield, endeavours... to relieve the suffering of individuals, being guided solely by their needs, and to give priority to the most urgent cases of distress."

Humanity.

The Peace Testimony.

Each of us is sacred.

Adult Religious Education presentation on "Four Doors to Meeting for Worship"

[There is now a printable version of this post available; click here.]

Or, "'Four Doors to Meeting for Worship' from a Quaker Witch's Perspective." At University Friends Meeting here in Seattle, our March Adult Religious Education Program (ARE) was focused on William Taber's Pendle Hill pamphlet "Four Doors to Meeting for Worship." The first two Sundays were devoted to the pamphlet itself; the next three, to presentations by folks in our Meeting community sharing from their experiences and perspectives -- "an actual Bible-carrying Christian," someone who'd "found meaning in an Earth-based spirituality," and a former Catholic. The committee asked me, specifically, to speak on the First Day closest to Spring Equinox. I've taken my notes for my talk and tried to convert them into a blog post. A note: during my talk, the weather alternated between sun and light rain. - sm

The ARE committee asked me specifically to speak on the First Day closest to Spring Equinox. This is a treat for two reasons. One, they knew when Spring Equinox is, and they knew that it would be important to me. Two, Spring Equinox is when I first started attending Meeting for Worship regularly, twelve years ago in Philadelphia. So this is a double treat.

I first read Bill Taber's "Four Doors to Meeting for Worship" back in about 2002, when the Meeting I was part of was taking a Sabbath year. I re-read it twice last week, and I found myself getting really grumpy. What Taber is talking about is basic ritual structure (and I'll go more into that in a minute). And we like to pretend we don't have ritual.

As unprogrammed Friends, we say we don't have ritual. Sometimes, we're pretty self-righteous about it (I know I have been). But that's not true. It may be less structured than in other traditions, but it's there. When we deny that we have ritual, we are not being completely honest, and that's not in keeping with the testimony of integrity. When we're self-righteous about it, it makes it harder for us to build bridges between different religious groups, including within Quakerism itself. So my challenge to us as Friends is to speak more honestly about this.

Before I go on, let me define "magic." I'm going to borrow from Dion Fortune and from Starhawk, and use the common definitions of magic as a change in consciousness, a change in consciousness in accordance with will, or creating change in accordance with will. Bill Taber talks quite a bit about changing consciousness.

I also wanted to touch on something else. Last week's speaker talked about this, and many Christian traditions talk about this also: the notion that Jesus, as human, makes God, the whole of which humans cannot comprehend, accessible. One of the ways in which I as a Witch have direct access to the Goddess, direct, tangible, experience of the Goddess, is through the Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit. Through my breath, through the Sun (really, it's there), through the water I drink and the water all around us here in the Puget Sound area, through my food and the earth that grows my food, through the mountains all around us here, through the people around me, through animals and trees. Asking me if I "believe in" the Goddess is like asking me, "Do you believe in rain?" (Especially in Puget Sound in the winter...)

Many Christians talk about nature and the Earth being sacred as creations of God, but don't treat it as an embodiment of the Divine. My challenge to us is to treat nature as Divine in and of itself, and see how that changes our actions.

So what do I mean by "basic ritual structure"?

Taber's "Door Before" is preparation; the "Door Inward" is transition; the "Door Within" is a change of consciousness, or magic; the "Door Beyond" is a transition back to ordinary time and consciousness, and a taking forward of the magic, of the transformation and change, that has occurred during Meeting for Worship, to our daily lives.

So, let me walk through those four doors and talk about them from my perspective.

The Door Before

What helps me feel my connection to the Divine in my everyday life?

• Worship before meals, alone or with someone. This is a common practice in our family, having a moment of silent worship before we eat, and it's something I find I carry over to when I eat alone, as well.

• Community - when I connect deeply with someone.

• Walks in the Arb and on Marsh Island. We live two blocks from the Arboretum, and just south of the Montlake Cut and Marsh Island. Those are wonderful places to go for walks. Trees, water, birds...

• Dancing. There are several forms of dance I'm involved in, and they're very important to me, as is the music in those dance forms.

• Music - deliberately listening to specific pieces of music, specific songs, specific mixes (we call them playlists now on iTunes).
  

• Crocheting - I have a very active crochet ministry, and most of you have seen me crocheting away during Meeting for Worship with Attention to Business. Particularly when I'm making something for someone in need -- a new baby, a friend in the hospital -- crocheting is a good reminder of my connection with the Divine.

• Snuggling the cats.

• Snuggling my beloved.

• Chopping wood.

• Worship - moments of worship during the week.

• Lighting a candle; keeping it lit around the house.

• Listening to the birds outside my window early in the morning; watching them come to the feeder throughout the day.

• Taking a moment to close my eyes, breathe, and feel my connection to the Earth and to the elements necessary for sustaining life - the Air, the Fire, the Water, the Earth, the Spirit that is all of them.

Bill Taber talks quite a bit about moments during travel or commuting, and something that occurs to me now is something that happens on the bus. The buses I take the most often cross the Montlake Bridge, and you can see both the Cascade Mountains and the Olympic Mountains on either side of the Bridge when it's clear enough. I often find myself taking a moment to look for them whenever a bus I'm on crosses that Bridge. In fact, there seems to be something of a secret society of people who do this; recently, another person and I caught each other's eyes and shared a smile as we both turned to look at the mountains on both sides of the bus. I've since kept an eye out for other people who do this.

The Door Inward

Taber calls this "entering and centering" into the Meeting for Worship, and he details what he calls "rituals" (in quotes) that individual Friends might use.

What helps me "enter and center" into Meeting for Worship?

• Closing my eyes and paying attention to my breathing and to how my body feels. Am I breathing comfortably? Is my breath short, constrained? What parts of my body are tense? Am I sitting in a position that I can maintain for much of an hour? (Not that I ever sit in the same position for an hour.) Am I in physical pain? What parts of my body are holding tension?

• Holding rocks or shells in my hands. (At this point, I took two rocks out of my pockets, held them up, and asked how many people had rocks in their pockets. Two hands came up at first, then, shyly, several more.) Holding objects from nature, usually rocks, sometimes shells, or feathers, or other things, helps me ground and center. (I'll come back to that in a moment.)

• Looking around at the different people who have come into the Meeting for Worship, and holding them, and the Meeting for Worship, in the Light. This is a common Friends' practice.

• Grounding and centering. This is a common practice in certain Pagan traditions, and involves establishing, or reminding ourselves of, our energy connection to the Earth, and the elements, as well as our connections with each other. Sometimes a particular meditation is helpful; the one I use the most often is the Tree of Life.

• Songs and music. I often have songs or snippets of music running through my head during Meeting for Worship. Often they help me ground and center, help me transition, help me prepare for that shift in consciousness that Taber talks about and that is essential to magic.

The Door Within

This is the change of consciousness, the shift, the magic.

It's usually a subtle shift; occasionally, it's a sudden one. I couldn't say when, time-wise in an hour's Meeting for Worship, it usually happens -- twenty past? half past? twenty til? -- and I wouldn't be surprised if it happens at different times during different Meetings for Worship. Sometimes, it doesn't happen.

I often have music or songs floating through my head, some of them insistently, during this part of worship. Sometimes a specific song will come to me quite suddenly once my consciousness has shifted, and it's often a message about, or a part of, the spiritual work that's taking place -- the magic and transformation.

The magical or spiritual work of Meeting for Worship is to be open to direct connection with the Divine, to the awareness of that connection, to the change that brings, and to be in spiritual communion with each other, as well.

Taber distinguishes between "gathered worship" and "covered worship." I'm not sure I completely understand the difference, but I'd like to share some experiences I've had with each.

I've experienced gathered worship in Meetinghouses. I've experienced it often in worship at Friends for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer Concerns. I've experienced it outside.

One place I consistently experienced gathered worship is a once-a-year outdoor Meeting for Worship in my old Meeting. Once every summer, we would have worship and a picnic at our burial ground, in a circle (well, an oval) of oaks. (Which made it uncomfortable to go barefoot.) People would bring lawn chairs, cushions, mats or blankets, and we would worship outside. It was consistently one of my favorite experiences of Meeting for Worship.

We actually really wanted to have our wedding there, but we decided not to -- May in southeastern Pennsylvania is chancy in terms of rain, and we knew there would be people at our wedding who were hard of hearing and Deaf. So instead we had it in the Meeting room. And that turned out to be really important, as did using traditional Quaker wedding promises. Being in that room, where we went for Worship each week, and where so many other couples in the Meeting had had their weddings, turned out to be an important connection to our community and important in supporting our marriage. And when a couple uses traditional Quaker wedding promises, you will often see other couples' lips moving in a reaffirmation of their own promises and in connection with the newly-married couple. Quaker wedding promises connect us to all of those who have gone before, and also to all of those yet-to-become married couples who will come after us.

I had a profound experience of what might be called covered worship -- although for me, as a Witch, things like this come from below, not above; so it felt more like being held than covered -- in a completely silent Meeting for Worship in a field in the Midwest. There were only two of us, there was no vocal ministry whatsoever, and yet there was no doubt for either of us that it was a deep and profound Meeting for Worship, that we were held, together, by that Spirit. We spent the following hour in animated conversation, but it had been a completely silent Meeting for Worship, aside from the sounds of the outdoors.

I find it is sometimes hard to resist the temptation to "do work" in Meeting for Worship. You know, today I will worship on "X," and at the end of Meeting I will be clear about what to do next, I will have discerned how I am led. Well, it just about never works. But it's still hard to resist, especially if I have a lot going on in my spiritual life.

Meeting for Worship is usually a much better experience if I'm simply able to be open and fully present. If I am able to be in "expectant waiting" without preconceptions. That's when the magic happens.

The Door Beyond

Transition to ordinary consciousness; taking forward transformation and change

At the end of Meeting, we have to return to ordinary consciousness, ordinary time and space. Sometimes that transition is jarring. Although I know Taber and other Friends have trouble with them, I find introductions and announcements sometimes help that. At least, if announcements don't go on too long.

Shaking hands, the traditional signal of the end of Meeting for Worship, helps ground us in our bodies and in our connections with each other. In Witchcraft and many other forms of Paganism, we pat down our bodies [I demonstrated this], and we eat and drink at the end of ritual as a way to be fully present in our bodies in ordinary time and space. Here, we have coffee, tea, and snacks in the social hall.

Also, what transformation and change am I talking forward with me? What concrete manifestation of magic -- or, as Taber would say, of the work of the Inward Christ -- do I take forward with me into my week? We may know right away -- I need to do this, I need to talk to this person, I need to make this phone call, I need to take time to do this, I need to make this change in my life. Sometimes we may not know, not until later in the week, not until after many Meetings for Worship. Sometimes what we take forward is simply a greater awareness of our connection with the Divine, or a sense of community.

Going back, something you'll sometimes see people do is touch the ground. [I demonstrated this, then asked the group:] After a really deep Meeting for Worship, how many people feel buzzy, or light-headed, or off in the clouds? (Hands raised.) Touching the ground, or even formally grounding and centering again, through breathing or a Tree of Life, can help release that excess energy back into the Earth, where we can always reach it.

So, that's basically how I would say I walk through Taber's Four Doors.

Questions and discussion

Here are a few of the things that came up during questions and discussion; I know I'm not capturing them all.

One Friend asked about how I came to Quakerism, so I shared a brief version of that story. Another Friend asked about a example of concrete magic; I talked about the magic at the heart of the usual Roses, Too! Tradition Brigid ritual, around powerlessness and power-from-within, with the concrete magic of lighting many, many candles, and talked about how that can then be taken forward into daily life. Friends shared experiences of conversations about ritual and worship within Quakerism; conflicts in a local community garden over the symbolism of a sculpture and about fertility; and more.

We could have talked much longer, but our hour was up.

[I also handed out a resource sheet, an invitation to the Roses, Too! Tradition Spring Equinox/Eostara potluck at our house that afternoon, and some lyrics to songs that are likely to get stuck in my head during Meeting for Worship.]

It was a really positive experience for me.

Explicit Meeting for Worship?

Some thoughts from a recent First Day Meeting for Worship. - sm

Is it "all right" to have explicitly Pagan Meeting for Worship?

Let's turn it around. Is it "all right" to have explicitly Christian Meeting for Worship?

It's not just our Christian roots as Friends that make it acceptable to us to sit in expectant waiting on Jesus or Christ. It's that Christianity is the dominant culture in our country in terms of religion -- the dominant group.

But That-Which-Is-Sacred is bigger than just Jesus. It's bigger, even, than the Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost/Holy Spirit.

To some Christians, that's heresy: "Godless Pagans!"

And yet, to many Pagans, a refusal to recognize the Goddess -- the Divine Feminine, the Earth Who nurtures us and on Whom we are dependent for life -- is heresy: "Goddessless Christians!"

(And, in the words of Sojourner Truth, "Where did your Christ come from?")

If the Divine is bigger than Jesus or the Goddess (or the God), should we sit in expectant waiting on those -- or any -- particular facets of the Divine?

The faces of the Divine we know, with which we have experience, are the ones that are the most accessible to us. They are the facets through which we come to know the whole, or more of the whole, because as humans, we can never fully comprehend or know the Whole of the Divine.

A bit of a limb

I'm going to go out on a bit of a limb, and share with you more of what I've been up to since moving to Seattle. Which, come to think of it, is spending a lot of time out on a limb.

Starting this fall, I've been making ministry the focus of my life.

That's such a simple statement. But there are so many things it doesn't say -- about faith and faithfulness, anxiety and fear, joy and peace and simplicity, and more.

This leading has been building for a while, and came to something of a crescendo almost a year ago, when Beloved Wife and I were struggling to discern our next steps.

She was completing her PhD in math, and had started to hear back from post-doctoral jobs she'd applied for. We were trying to figure things out -- not only what to do next, but how on earth to decide. None of what looked best for her was compatible with what I'd thought I was led to do next. We twisted ourselves into some pretty interesting and awkward pretzels trying to make it all work. (The pretzel-twisting didn't work.)

A couple of things helped. One was deciding we trusted that this leading to be in a marriage with each other would not be mutually-exclusive with our other leadings. Three other things that helped were my being willing to listen deeply, even daringly, to myself; my asking for a clearness committee; and Beloved Wife's willingness to trust this before I had good words to explain it.

Beloved Wife was in England for the semester, writing her dissertation in reach of her advisor, who was there on a visiting professorship. I was in Ann Arbor, working, taking a class, and doing intensive physical therapy for an old injury.

I had a series of experiences where discernment came in bright, heart-pounding flashes. Exam questions in my music theory class ("Describe your ideal lifestyle"). An email exchange with a dear friend/former professor and mentor ("I know exactly what kind of 'shop' you should set up!"). A clearness committee meeting with me at Mid-Winter Gathering, with deep worship, deep love, laughter, and tears ("No, you can't hide").

So, I gradually came to understand that my next step was to answer a leading to make ministry the main focus of my life, of my time and energy.

That didn't mean I knew what it would look like.

And I still don't!

I know some of what it looks like, or at least what it's looked like this fall: taking some classes, hosting events for building spiritual community, being available for counseling and spiritual direction, submitting a workshop proposal for FGC Gathering, participating in the life of the Meeting I'm attending here in Seattle, getting to know the local Pagan community a little, making sure I take time for things like dance (my version of "going to the gym") and for teaching dance... But sometimes I think I'm still figuring it out every day.

That's okay with me, for the most part. I don't need to have it all figured out. I don't necessarily need to know where I'm going to end up, just where the next few steps are.

A lot of this last year has felt like this song-and-picture combination:

I feel like I'm crossing a stream in the woods: I can see the rock I'm stepping on, and I can see the next; I can tell there's a mossy bank on the far side, but I can't see all the stepping stones in between. (Or the places where my feet will get wet.) But the woods are green and beautiful; the birds are calling; the sun is shining down through the trees; the breeze is dancing; the brook is singing.

Imani, faith, can come like a spirit
Spirit come like walking on air
Take a step, and trust in the path, and
Mother Imani meet you there.

- from "Imani," by Rachael AK Hazen

Music meditation

When I was a teenager, my bedroom was on the third floor of my family's fixer-upper house. I didn't care that it was the coldest (and hottest) bedroom in the house, and had the worst-peeling of the wallpaper and paint: mine was the only bedroom up there, and I had the roof.

The third floor was smaller than the second floor, which meant there was a gently-sloped expanse of roof outside my bedroom window. Many nights, before going to bed, I would climb out my window to sit out on the roof and commune with the trees and the stars (and try to ignore the streetlights from the apartment house parking lot next door).

One year, for birthday or holiday, I don't remember which, an aunt gave me a walkman tape player. I had a friend with a good stereo who would make me mix tapes (and sometimes let me make them myself). So then I could climb out on the roof, commune with nature, and listen to music. Which I did, sometimes for hours on end.

Meditating out on the roof would, as Madeleine L'Engle's character Vicky Austin would say, bring me back into perspective, back into myself, and at the same time, beyond and outside of myself. My word for it was be-ing. I didn't have to think, I didn't have to be smart (I was the smart kid), I didn't have to do anything right, I didn't have to figure things out, I didn't have to know what to say to my family or teachers or school-mates. I could simply be, me and the trees and the stars, and whoever or whatever the Divine might be.

The woods, the moon, the stars, the seasons -- they have always been how I have most keenly felt the Divine. But in high school, I discovered music.

I realized recently that meditating to music is a spiritual practice that hasn't changed much for me in the last twenty-four years. (Although the technology has.)

Last winter into spring was a lonely and challenging time for me, but it was filled with much spiritual growth, discernment, and music. And one of the things that I found myself doing a lot was listening to music on the headset in the velvet darkness. Inside, this time: it was a snowy Michigan winter this year.

Beloved Wife was away, doing research in England for the semester. I was working and taking classes (trying to decide which to keep and which to drop: I kept music theory, and decided four years was too long after taking orgo I to be taking orgo II); trying to make decisions with Beloved Wife about our next move, her next job, and grad school for me; asking myself many hard questions about who I am and what I am led to do; learning a lot about music; discovering community I hadn't realized I'd had; and learning how to dance again, with deep gratitude to my physical therapy team.

Meditating to music helped ground me and center me, helped me worship, helped me re-connect with who I am and what's important to me, reminded me both of the things that have been constant and of the things I've been learning. The two have been very intertwined this year.

I asked a clearness committee to meet with me at Mid-Winter Gathering. It really helped, but it was also pretty scary: when Friends help you see what you're really being asked to do, it's a lot harder to hide from it. :)

It's fall now, and here we are in Seattle for the year.

During a break yesterday afternoon, I decided to download two songs I've had stuck in my head for the last few weeks, but didn't own copies of (except I have a copy of one of them on tape, in storage for the year). Did I mention the technology has changed?

We don't have a stereo with us, and the external computer speakers are good, but they're small; and this one song has rich vocal harmonies. So I plugged in the headphones so I could better listen to it.

I found myself drawn to just sitting on the sofa and listening to the entire mix I'd added the two new songs to. It was daytime, so it was light out, and I was sitting on the sofa, looking out at the greenery in front of our house and at the hummingbird that comes to our feeder. I was listening to a mix that's been growing since January, one I listened to a lot last winter, with some new additions.

And it turned out, this was exactly what I needed. During that time, I got re-grounded in me. I didn't have to be smart or wise, I didn't have to be a seasoned Friend or experienced thealogian, I didn't even have to ask how I'm led; all I had to do was be me, as the Goddess made/grew me. Carving out that time and space, and the change of perspective and consciousness that came with it, was a huge relief.

And isn't that what magic is?

Courageously Explicit

I received word this week that my interest group proposal was accepted. Here's the wording that I finally condensed it into (the guideline is "around 50 words." Hmmm).

Courageously Explicit
Three Friends walk into Meeting for Worship: a Christian, a Pagan, a Jew, and a Non-Theist. Each gives ministry from their own experience; they all experience gathered Worship. Come create the rest of the story: coming together, supporting each other, building community, helping each other be faithful, speaking explicitly.

On the curb? In the back yard?

I don't have a sense of how much my regular readers know about some of the struggles I've been engaged in within Quakerism over the last three years, or about how I feel about them.

I certainly wrote about the conflict within Ann Arbor Friends Meeting over renting space to a Pagan Friends Gathering I was helping to organize, but I was fairly circumspect about my own feelings and reactions.

I haven't written much about a conflict in my "home" Meeting, Central Philadelphia Monthly Meeting, over my application for membership. It's still in process (after more than a year), it's so personal, and I am stumped about what to say or how.

I did write about the recent news article on Pagan Friends, and a little about my reaction -- but there's more interesting discussion occurring on other blogs where there's much more comment activity; and in addition, I've kind of thrown my hands up over it all: I'm certainly not in control over what's out there and what people make of it!, and I'm overwhelmed by trying to participate.

But the fact that I haven't talked much about how I feel about different conflicts has meant rarely asking for, and rarely receiving, support in my feelings of isolation.

I say "rarely" rather than "never," because Cat and I have exchanged some supportive blog comments which were quite helpful to me, and because I've had some good discussions on the Jewish Friends and Non-Theist Friends lists in particular. But I haven't talked much about it here.

Cat wrote a post recently, "Thoughts from the Curb," which inspired me to do some work I need to do here.

If Cat moved (did she march? stalk? creep? walk with great dignity?) out to the metaphorical curb, feeling unwelcome in her Quaker house, I fled to the back yard. I'm not sure if I'm up in a tree, or sitting with determined dignity in a lawn chair, but either way, I'm trying to settle into worship, and wishing people would join me. I'd be really happy if they brought the metaphorical family dinner, as they did with Cat. Or perhaps tea and chocolate.

I'm no stranger to controversy. I'm no stranger to spiritual community. But community, and Quaker process, are what help me stay grounded and sane during conflict and controversy, and I've been feeling the lack of immediate community. (Well, and of Quaker process, too, now that I think of it.)

I cannot say how grateful I am for larger Quaker community, especially FGC and FLGBTQC. My work with them, whether in their everyday incarnations or at Gatherings, consistently and surely reminds me that I am a Friend, that Quakerism is my home. Even when there's been conflict there -- at every Gathering, in every time I've gone into the FGC office to do some kind of work or emailed with Friends to do FLGBTQC work, I've been reminded that this is home.

But FGC and FLGBTQC are my more-extended community. Here in my immediate and small spiritual family, I'm feeling the lack of intermediate extended family -- aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews, sisters- and brothers-in-law. (Hmmm. Especially cousins.)

How do I feel about recent controversies?

One, I know Quakerism is my home. Friends' process, Friends' testimonies: these are how I walk with integrity in the world. I am sure and joyful in my ministry, in its different forms, even when I am uncertain.

Right now in particular, I feel like I am crossing a stream, one stone at a time. So far, each stone has been steady; but I don't know if the next one will wobble, or how many stones there are after that, or if they reach the bank. I just know I need to be faithful one step, one stone, at a time. ("Imani, faith.") And I know that the stream and the woods are really, really beautiful.

Two, I know that I am a Witch: I know the Goddess. Leaf, stone, sun, breeze, trickle of water, the Spirit moving among us when we are gathered together in community: I have met Her, I continue to meet Her.

Three... I feel. How do I feel? Lonely, frustrated, hurt, determined, joyful, faithful, sure, uncertain, reassured.

My faith in Quaker process has not been diminished; it only increases during these conflicts. On the other hand, my frustration with an intellectual and emotional mimicry of Quaker process has grown and remains high. It's so obvious, afterwards (and sometimes during), when one has been part of true Friends' process. It's marvelous, even when it's hard work and hard emotionally and spiritually. It's not so obvious when one has been part of what I've heard referred to as "Meeting for Good Ideas," except for a vague feeling of deep disappointment afterwards (and sometimes during).

I am really tired of "Meeting for Good Ideas." Partially because I yearn for the spiritual communion of true Meeting for Worship and Meeting for Worship with Attention to Business. Partially because, in the current controversies of which I am part, there is no room for me in Meeting for Good Ideas.

In Meeting for Good Ideas, I watch people say, with utter conviction, outrageous untruths (and sometimes downright lies) about me and about what they call "people like me." Things they've learned from third parties, not from the Spirit: from gossip; from the internet; from people who actually don't know anything about me or my work personally, but who are queried as "experts." Sometimes folks just plain make stuff up.

So much of what I hear reminds me of what I went through in the late 80s and early 90s as a lesbian. Even within supposedly supportive communities, people would say the most outrageous things as fact. In some spiritual communities, they still do.

Perhaps I need to write an entire separate entry on myth-busting. But for now, a few examples. Lesbians, bi people, gay men, transgender people, and queer folk are not, by inherent condition of being LBGTQ: primarily interested in molesting children; constitutionally incapable of forming long-term, stable relationships; confused; unable to commit; celibate; promiscuous; mentally unstable; etc.

Pagan Quakers, are not, by inherent condition of being Pagan Friends: ignorant of Quaker history; dangerous; unfamiliar with Quaker worship/ process/ testimonies; trying to dilute Quakerism; trying to destroy Friends' process; committed to ritual; not committed to ritual; into killing squirrels; incapable of Quaker worship; confused; unable to commit; etc.

Back to Meeting for Good Ideas. It seems that it takes true worship for there to be room for me.

When I can truly worship with Friends -- not participate in discussion under the guise of worship, but be part of a group that truly asks, "How are we led?" -- then I am not angry and I am not afraid: I am open. If our worship leads to an outcome, by listening deeply -- as ours is a religious tradition of listening spirituality -- by listening deeply, I know we come to an outcome that will work for me. But our worship might not lead to an outcome, and if it does not, then it does not. We are in Friends process.

So, what do I want, what do I need?

Right now, I'd really love it if some folks came out into the metaphorical back yard with me, where I'm feeling lonely, sad, tender, and a little overwhelmed. There's this lovely old, large magnolia tree we can climb together (assuming I can still climb trees in my advanced middle age!), or we can sit together in a circle on the grass, on lawn chairs or cushions or blankets. I'd love it if we sat together in worship for a while. Maybe after, we can have some deep conversation, or worship-sharing. Maybe we can eat together here outside. And maybe when we're done, we can sing together, drum, play instruments. Maybe a few hardy folks will dance.

Maybe we can help each other be faithful. Maybe we can give each other strength.

Maybe we can build community.

Courageously Explicit

The theme for this year's Gathering of Friends General Conference is "Courageously Faithful."

Thanks to my Beloved Wife, I started attending Summer Gathering in 2001. And the Goddess made it clear right off the bat that She was calling me to active ministry among Pagan Friends, not just in my life in general, but at Summer Gathering: that year, I was asked to facilitate the Women's Center Full Moon Ritual; from 2002 to 2006, I facilitated evening interest groups for and about Pagan Quakers; and in 2007, I facilitated a week-long workshop for Pagan Friends.

This year, I am being led in an even broader, deeper direction.

For the last several years, I've been having conversations with Friends in different locales about who feels "most welcome" and "most at home" in our Meetings. I've talked with Pagan Friends, of course, but also Non-Theist Friends, Jewish Friends, Christian Friends, straight Friends, and queer Friends. These conversations have led me to conclusions I didn't necessarily expect, coming at first solely from my own experience and that of other Pagan Quakers.

It's never who we'd necessarily think.

Here's one example, from a large, East Coast Monthly Meeting:

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In this Meeting, Pagan Friends feel that they are not welcome to give vocal ministry that's explicit -- that comes from their experience of the Divine, or comes in the language of how they experience the Divine. They feel that it's not okay for them to talk about the Goddess or the Gods, Samhain or Beltane, or the like. They've been eldered for it, they've been criticized for it, they've been told they have to give up the Goddess if they're going to be Quakers -- even though some of them are members of their Meeting.

These Pagan Friends have the impression it's okay for Christian Friends to give explicit ministry. They feel like it's okay for Christian Friends to talk about Jesus or Christ, Christmas or Easter, or the like.

I've heard from Christian Friends in this same Meeting, who were also told their vocal ministry wasn't welcome. I've heard from Friends -- including members of the Meeting -- who were asked not to return after giving explicitly Christian ministry during worship.

I felt an answering pain and anger.

But, they told me, Pagans can say whatever they want.

So, in this one example: The Christians think the Pagans are welcome to speak clearly and openly from their experience of the Divine, but not Christians. The Pagans think the Christians can speak clearly and openly from their experience of the Divine, but not Pagans.

And they've both got it wrong.

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Here's my theory:

Friends who experience the Divine in explicit, specific ways rarely feel like we're the "most comfortable" or the "most welcome" in our Meetings.

Somehow, our explicitness is threatening. And folks have let us know that.

Now, I freely admit, when someone stands and speaks their truth, and makes it clear that theirs is "The One Right Way" and that they're prepared to act accordingly, that I feel threatened.

But all of the Pagan, Jewish, and Non-Theist Friends, and most of the Christian Friends, whom I've heard give ministry in the explicit language of their experience are not preaching theirs as "The One Right Way." Most of them are very clear: This is my experience. This is my facet of the whole.

A universal longing in spiritual/religious community is for a place where we can have these conversations about the Divine in our lives. "How fares the Truth with thee, Friend?"

It's time for explicit Friends -- and I'm using this term for lack of a better one, not because I think it's necessarily the best term -- it's time for explicit Friends to reach out to one another, talk with one another, support each other, lift each other up, help each other be faithful, have deep, chewy conversations with each other, build community together.

So, here's the beginning of the language I'm fantasizing about for the interest group proposal:

Title: Courageously Explicit.
Description: Three Friends walk into Meeting for Worship: a Christian, a Pagan, a Non-Theist, and a Jew.

What might the next sentences be?
They all give explicit ministry.
They all experience gathered worship.
Come help tell the rest of the story.
If you experience the Divine in a specific, explicit way, come build community and share fellowship.

I don't know yet what the rest of the language will be.

I welcome discussion on this.

(And yes, I know that's more than three: Jewish, Non-Theist, and Pagan, at least, are not mutually exclusive. *smile*)

England 6: Quaker Country

My final day visiting Beloved Wife in England, we headed further up north, into Quaker Country (also called "1652 Country").

(Two wonderful websites about walking tours of 1652 Quaker country: Bill Samuel's Quaker Tour of England, and Dai Williams' An Attender in Quaker Country.)

We were limited to places we could get to by the combination of public transit and our own two feet, and by the time of a dinner date in Manchester that evening. Beloved Wife did some on-line research, and we decided to visit Briggflatts Meeting House and hopefully Firbank Fell.

We took the train to Oxenholme, then the bus to Sedbergh. The bus ride was, um, dramatic: here we were on this big bus, in hilly country, on these very narrow lanes bordered by stone fences, going rather fast. (It didn't seem to bother any of the other passengers -- three elderly women -- at all.)

From the bus, we had a lovely view of Lambrigg Wind Farm. That was neat!


Here we are in Sedbergh:


(Don't ask me why there are palm trees in Sedbergh.) From Sedbergh, we walked to Briggflatts Meeting House and Burial Ground. (For the map, click here. Briggflatts is southwest of Sedbergh; Firbank Fell is northwest of Sedbergh.)

Walking along paths in this part of England involves some interesting customs regarding private property and public rights-of-way. And gates. As with our trip from Edale, we found ourselves walking along paths that bordered as well as cut through the middle of sheep pastures. (In Edale, there were some cattle, too.)


The customs seem pretty simple: don't scare the critters, keep your dog on a lead if you're walking with one, and make sure you close the gates behind you. Interestingly, as we approached Briggflatts, and saw there was repair work taking place on one of the buildings, we also saw signs for the re-routed footpath. Very neat.

So we walked out of town, through fields, over hills, along lanes, and under an abandoned railroad track, until we came to Briggflatts. First we visited the burial ground, then the meetinghouse itself.


The burial ground was beautiful.


The meetinghouse, which dates from 1678, was also beautiful. Even now, just looking at the picture and remembering the deep, deep sense of peace in the meeting room, I find myself with tears in my eyes.


Many of the folks who signed the guest register -- Friends and non-Friends alike -- commented on the simple beauty and the peace of the meetinghouse.

Perhaps, as Friends, we shouldn't care, or it shouldn't matter to us, what our Meetinghouses look like, if they're beautiful or not. But it does. And I don't think worse of us for it.

Briggflatts is in my absolute favorite style of meeting room. There's a meetinghouse in the midwest of the US, whose insides just look like a Methodist church to me: medium-blond wood paneling on the walls, the same shade of medium-blond wood in the benches, pale blue-green cushions, and very modern. Somehow, it just doesn't work for me. (I realize this sense of what's "right" in a meetinghouse is a distinct result of the East Coast Catholic portion of my upbringing.)


There is a small set of rooms in the same building, accessible from outside, that houses the Meeting's library, a bathroom, and even a small kitchen. There were mugs and tea placed out in the library, with a note that milk was in the fridge, and an invitation to eat one's lunch and have a hot cup of tea. Such lovely hospitality!

We had our lunch out in the garden, in spite of the chill, while consulting the map. We sadly concluded that we could not both walk to Fox's Pulpit on Firbank Fell and make our train, and prepared to leave. As we were walking up the lane towards the footpath, one of the wardens, Tess, appeared out of their house to talk with us, and offered to drive us up. This gave us a lovely chance to visit with her, and talk about the life of the Meeting, Quakerism in the US and Britain, her husband and children, and just to enjoy fellowship. It was a treat.

Tess told us how George Fox preached to 1,000 people here. We had heard this, but found ourselves in puzzlement. Firbank Fell is in the middle of nowhere, as you can see in this picture. Why did Fox decide to preach there, and why on earth were 1,000 people there, 350-odd years ago, to hear him?


According to Tess, the people of Kendal and Sedbergh couldn't decided which of the two towns should get the church, so the church was built on top of Firbank Fell, between them. When Fox came to preach, word spread, and so not only did the folk of both towns come to hear him, so also did all their friends and relatives from far away. When Fox was denied entry to the church, he chose this rock, next to the church, from which to preach.


(Evidently, he later took over the pulpit in the church, too.)


Tess offered to drive us to Sedbergh to catch our bus, but because of her help, we had plenty of time to walk back to town; so we asked her to drop us off back at her house and the meetinghouse. When we got there, a committee meeting was about to start, so we got to meet several folks from the Meeting. In spite of all the visitors they get every year, they welcomed us enthusiastically (in an understated British way). Like the warden in York, they seemed to feel some extra kinship on learning that the two of us are part of the unprogrammed tradition.

To walk back to Sedbergh, we cut along the old railway bed so we could walk along the Dales Way footpath.


We were in good time to catch our bus, and then our train, and then to have dinner with folks in Manchester.

The day was definitely one of the highlights of my trip.

Click below for the full album.

2008-02 England 6: Quaker country