In almost every class we are asked to do what Marylhurst calls a Hermeneutic, or a direct response to the material. It always catches me off guard, and busy, and grumpy and not feeling like having a 'direct response to the material'.
Every once in while I do something that I like. Here is a poem that is a 'direct response' to all the shenanigans in Genesis.
Visions
Visions are not what they used to be,
God doesn’t easily walk in gardens.
Adam lives alone and is getting unemployment.
Lambs don’t acquire spots from the clever application of colored rods.
Some things do remain the same,
Rape is still timeless and still about property.
But visions don’t care about changing times, they pulse through in any way they can.
They come to me over radios spewing junk
and then somehow I hit the right band and the Universe speaks.
Power-lines snake past me in my dreams,
They course with life force from some Hooverish source of infinity.
Once I even saw a garden in my mind,
but in the lovely, leafy stillness there also came an earth-moving, scraping, killing machine.
It’s not what you think.
The dozer was telling me
I had a choice in how I see.
I want my visions to spring wet and green from creation like a Hallmark theme -
And God saw that it was Good.
Or, as in one hopeful translation
God saw that it was Beautiful.
Instead they come as they will, using whatever symbol is in the mind’s junk drawer
To tell us we have the power,
if only we would use it,
if only we would see.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
White Culture I
I tend to keep my head low when it comes to discussing race. After all what do I know about it? I do know my own culture though -- white culture.
I have had several conversion style revelations around race and racism lately.
My first was a few years ago. My children were going to a multicultural school and it was such a different experience than I had growing up. I was fascinated by how comfortable my sons were negotiating race. They noticed race, talked about it, but as an everyday occurrence and a part of that person's identity. It wasn't always completely politically correct what they said, but it had no heat. There was a comfort for them of the everyday. This guy was Asian, this girl was Russian and that meant they had to negotiate with their parents in a certain way. No big deal.
In fact I developed this theory that race was over. I thought, "what is all the fuss about race, it's over, the kids know what to do". They get race and gayness and all of that and its over, or at least just about over; all that uncomfortableness and the bad feelings, all of that. I even developed a theory that 'especially black was over' since there were so many different races now that they didn't have that duality relationship anymore with America. There was one of those tempest-in-a-teapot controversies going on in the newspaper. One person had charged racism. A white person had written back saying, 'why do you think that is racism? Maybe it was just grumpiness.' I was frankly inclined to agree with the white person. Arghh! Just writing these things embarrasses me quite a lot, but this is what I thought.
It was at the unlikely location of my practically-all-white church that I was disabused of my happy face racial consciousness. We were doing a service on Martin Luther King and one of the older members stood up and witnessed to an event that she still remembered. She was a woman in her 80's and she was visiting Washington DC in the war years. She got on a bus and watched a group of young black people get kicked of the bus because they were black. It had been so unfair that she had never forgotten.
Listening, I felt conversion sweep over me. Its a prickly feeling that I get sometimes, when I realize something in my body. I couldn't be comfortable any more and think what I had thought before. My cheeks even pinked at my own ignorance.
Of course race isn't over! This woman had watched the most blatant institutional racism perpetuated in her own lifetime! People remember, they tell stories! A young child born today can have a great-grandparent who had this happen to them! Memories, even other people's memories, can hold on to that feeling of aggrievement and shame. It isn't over until its completely over, and all of the memories are so old that they are no longer transmitted.
I was still pretty ignorant about how much racism a person of color encounters in their daily life, but at least I was not being 'Sunny Jim' optimistic. I now didn't automatically dismiss a charge of racism when I read it in the paper. I knew racism was an evil with a long memory and I should respect its staying power and its impact on those who experience it.
I have had several conversion style revelations around race and racism lately.
My first was a few years ago. My children were going to a multicultural school and it was such a different experience than I had growing up. I was fascinated by how comfortable my sons were negotiating race. They noticed race, talked about it, but as an everyday occurrence and a part of that person's identity. It wasn't always completely politically correct what they said, but it had no heat. There was a comfort for them of the everyday. This guy was Asian, this girl was Russian and that meant they had to negotiate with their parents in a certain way. No big deal.
In fact I developed this theory that race was over. I thought, "what is all the fuss about race, it's over, the kids know what to do". They get race and gayness and all of that and its over, or at least just about over; all that uncomfortableness and the bad feelings, all of that. I even developed a theory that 'especially black was over' since there were so many different races now that they didn't have that duality relationship anymore with America. There was one of those tempest-in-a-teapot controversies going on in the newspaper. One person had charged racism. A white person had written back saying, 'why do you think that is racism? Maybe it was just grumpiness.' I was frankly inclined to agree with the white person. Arghh! Just writing these things embarrasses me quite a lot, but this is what I thought.
It was at the unlikely location of my practically-all-white church that I was disabused of my happy face racial consciousness. We were doing a service on Martin Luther King and one of the older members stood up and witnessed to an event that she still remembered. She was a woman in her 80's and she was visiting Washington DC in the war years. She got on a bus and watched a group of young black people get kicked of the bus because they were black. It had been so unfair that she had never forgotten.
Listening, I felt conversion sweep over me. Its a prickly feeling that I get sometimes, when I realize something in my body. I couldn't be comfortable any more and think what I had thought before. My cheeks even pinked at my own ignorance.
Of course race isn't over! This woman had watched the most blatant institutional racism perpetuated in her own lifetime! People remember, they tell stories! A young child born today can have a great-grandparent who had this happen to them! Memories, even other people's memories, can hold on to that feeling of aggrievement and shame. It isn't over until its completely over, and all of the memories are so old that they are no longer transmitted.
I was still pretty ignorant about how much racism a person of color encounters in their daily life, but at least I was not being 'Sunny Jim' optimistic. I now didn't automatically dismiss a charge of racism when I read it in the paper. I knew racism was an evil with a long memory and I should respect its staying power and its impact on those who experience it.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Now There is a Myth
I went to a wonderful lecture last night with the Portland Enneagram Society about brain science and the Enneagram. The woman who gave the lecture was a One on the Enneagram so of course she did a good job with lots of detail. I need to make very clear that the following is NOT about the quality of the lecture. It was great.
But, when she started the lecture she got my ministerial juices going because she shared a quote about babies, about how they are born 'perfect' and then we screw them up!
Babies are born perfect and then we screw them up! What a perfect myth for this society in the 21st century on Earth in the US of A. It's got everything we value.
Lets start with the baby. It's young, so automatically that is good. It has no experience and so it is more perfect than someone who has it.
When it goes into relationship with its family and society it is automatically less perfect. Think about that one. Our relationships make us less perfect! Would we be more perfect alone then -- growing up all by oneself or with other perfect companions who would somehow leave us without mark. The whole vision seems somehow lonely and bionic -- a futuristic, spiritual utopia without suffering. Later in the lecture we learn, that no, actually, we need to attune with mother, or else we do not grow up recognizably human.
Well that is more like it.
I am as individualistic as the next person but I find myself growning tired of it. I do believe we have gone about as far as we can go down the road of being 'perfect'ly separate. We drive around alone in our cars, live in large houses with lots of unused space, buy things to prove and improve our individual lives. Carp about our families and the weird things they did to us. I do all that and more.
I am going to go visit my mother for lunch today. My mother doesn't ask much of me. I think I know some of the reasons; her mother could be pretty invasive. I wish she asked more of me, but lately I have been just calling her up to talk. I want to stop fighting the individuation wars of my youth. I am more perfect than a baby, lovely and intent as a baby can be. My mother is more perfect too.
But, when she started the lecture she got my ministerial juices going because she shared a quote about babies, about how they are born 'perfect' and then we screw them up!
Babies are born perfect and then we screw them up! What a perfect myth for this society in the 21st century on Earth in the US of A. It's got everything we value.
Lets start with the baby. It's young, so automatically that is good. It has no experience and so it is more perfect than someone who has it.
When it goes into relationship with its family and society it is automatically less perfect. Think about that one. Our relationships make us less perfect! Would we be more perfect alone then -- growing up all by oneself or with other perfect companions who would somehow leave us without mark. The whole vision seems somehow lonely and bionic -- a futuristic, spiritual utopia without suffering. Later in the lecture we learn, that no, actually, we need to attune with mother, or else we do not grow up recognizably human.
Well that is more like it.
I am as individualistic as the next person but I find myself growning tired of it. I do believe we have gone about as far as we can go down the road of being 'perfect'ly separate. We drive around alone in our cars, live in large houses with lots of unused space, buy things to prove and improve our individual lives. Carp about our families and the weird things they did to us. I do all that and more.
I am going to go visit my mother for lunch today. My mother doesn't ask much of me. I think I know some of the reasons; her mother could be pretty invasive. I wish she asked more of me, but lately I have been just calling her up to talk. I want to stop fighting the individuation wars of my youth. I am more perfect than a baby, lovely and intent as a baby can be. My mother is more perfect too.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
I know a Goddess when I see one
I liked the Tri-met MAX story with just enough villainy to make one pay attention and hiss, but no real tragedy. A man got ready to get off the light-rail train in Portland, and his three-year-old ran ahead. Something happened and the door closed between them. He pounded on the door. His toddler was already crying on the platform. A woman on the other side pounded on the door. Everyone was in an uproar. The train operator didn't hear, or didn't care, and the train pulled away. The frantic father waited for the next stop, got off, and took the next train back. It took him seven minutes. No parent can read that story without shuddering. A three year old! But when he got to the platform where he had left his son, a nice, young woman was waiting there with his little boy.
Here she is! The father was so distraught he didn't get her name. But then the newspaper tracked her down and printed her picture. What a perfect person to be on the platform for a little, lost boy! I mean, I take MAX sometimes; and the platforms are often full of people who look like they might kill you.
That is an exaggeration, the people are usually fine, but they don't look like this pretty, kind girl. It just nice to know they are still out there -- the good person who has to step up and comfort a toddler for ten minutes, missing their own appointment, or class.
There was more. The operator of the train said he didn't hear the father. But when they checked out the intercom system it seemed to be working fine. I am sure there will be more. But I don't need to hear the rest of it, because the best part was the little Madonna on the platform.
Here she is! The father was so distraught he didn't get her name. But then the newspaper tracked her down and printed her picture. What a perfect person to be on the platform for a little, lost boy! I mean, I take MAX sometimes; and the platforms are often full of people who look like they might kill you.
That is an exaggeration, the people are usually fine, but they don't look like this pretty, kind girl. It just nice to know they are still out there -- the good person who has to step up and comfort a toddler for ten minutes, missing their own appointment, or class.
There was more. The operator of the train said he didn't hear the father. But when they checked out the intercom system it seemed to be working fine. I am sure there will be more. But I don't need to hear the rest of it, because the best part was the little Madonna on the platform.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
All about Bultmann
I am taking a Gospel class and am amused by how often Jesus' identity is raised in the Gospels. "who do they say that I am?" is a typical question.
I have another identity mystery to solve however. Who is this Bultmann? As I do research on the Gospel John I keep running into his name. He seems to be a mythic figure to all the towering giants of exegesis. It’s hilarious in a way, I almost have to do research on the researcher. In John Ashton’s book, Understanding the Fourth Gospel, (boy is that misnamed) which left me cross-eyed and belligerent because of its insider, referential impenetrability (perhaps I should just say it’s a scholarly work), he treats Bultmann as a God.
And of course the name BULTMANN has the heavy sound of German authority; if God's name wasn't Yahweh it might just be Bultmann.
Ashton actually treats Bultmann as more of an idol than a God, because he is always trying to refute him. I put it down to an obsession by one exegete to an older, authority figure. Perhaps Bultmann was Ashton’s old professor, he has to be respectful while he undermines his pet theories.
But then I find in Raymond Brown (who himself is a towering something or other) this little bon mot "I do not think that the evangelist was either anti-sacramental (in a Bultmannian sense) or anti-ecclesiastic." Raymond Brown is more accessible than Ashton is, although not much. I cannot fathom the above quoted sentence though, and cannot imagine ever writing anything where I used the Biblical scholar Bultmann as an adjective.
Oh, then Malina and Rohrbach, who are very modern and try and be understandable, mention Bultmann as if everyone knows who he is and what he stands for.
They seem so happy and oblivious these Biblical scholars. It’s such a tempest in a teapot sort of environment where everyone knows everyone. These scholars of the Bible - not so long ago all male - obviously intelligent - very detail-oriented - learned - unemotional tinkerer’s of the Gospels. It’s as if the Gospels were car engines and they just have to have a go at them.
After writing a mild screed about Bultmann above, I felt a little guilty so I looked him up. He is all that I said, but also someone I think I might have agreed with. Wikipedia says "He carried form-criticism so far as to call the historical value of the gospels into serious question. Some scholars criticized Bultmann and other critics for excessive skepticism regarding the historical reliability of the gospel narratives." Interesting, he was really saying that the Gospels should be looked at in a different way -- actually sounds like he came to the post -modern conclusion that you cannot just take the Bible back and back until you finally have the truth of it, you need another paradigm. He was influence by Kierkegaard more than most people are now. His movement away from exegesis had a different flavor than it would have if he was writing today.
But Bultmann, it looks like you were all right, in a Bultmannian sense that is.
I have another identity mystery to solve however. Who is this Bultmann? As I do research on the Gospel John I keep running into his name. He seems to be a mythic figure to all the towering giants of exegesis. It’s hilarious in a way, I almost have to do research on the researcher. In John Ashton’s book, Understanding the Fourth Gospel, (boy is that misnamed) which left me cross-eyed and belligerent because of its insider, referential impenetrability (perhaps I should just say it’s a scholarly work), he treats Bultmann as a God.
And of course the name BULTMANN has the heavy sound of German authority; if God's name wasn't Yahweh it might just be Bultmann.
Ashton actually treats Bultmann as more of an idol than a God, because he is always trying to refute him. I put it down to an obsession by one exegete to an older, authority figure. Perhaps Bultmann was Ashton’s old professor, he has to be respectful while he undermines his pet theories.
But then I find in Raymond Brown (who himself is a towering something or other) this little bon mot "I do not think that the evangelist was either anti-sacramental (in a Bultmannian sense) or anti-ecclesiastic." Raymond Brown is more accessible than Ashton is, although not much. I cannot fathom the above quoted sentence though, and cannot imagine ever writing anything where I used the Biblical scholar Bultmann as an adjective.
Oh, then Malina and Rohrbach, who are very modern and try and be understandable, mention Bultmann as if everyone knows who he is and what he stands for.
They seem so happy and oblivious these Biblical scholars. It’s such a tempest in a teapot sort of environment where everyone knows everyone. These scholars of the Bible - not so long ago all male - obviously intelligent - very detail-oriented - learned - unemotional tinkerer’s of the Gospels. It’s as if the Gospels were car engines and they just have to have a go at them.
***
After writing a mild screed about Bultmann above, I felt a little guilty so I looked him up. He is all that I said, but also someone I think I might have agreed with. Wikipedia says "He carried form-criticism so far as to call the historical value of the gospels into serious question. Some scholars criticized Bultmann and other critics for excessive skepticism regarding the historical reliability of the gospel narratives." Interesting, he was really saying that the Gospels should be looked at in a different way -- actually sounds like he came to the post -modern conclusion that you cannot just take the Bible back and back until you finally have the truth of it, you need another paradigm. He was influence by Kierkegaard more than most people are now. His movement away from exegesis had a different flavor than it would have if he was writing today.
But Bultmann, it looks like you were all right, in a Bultmannian sense that is.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
The Crab
My friend and I were talking about making important decisions and I said "sometimes I can't look right at it, it has to come at me sideways like a crab."
She said "oh it makes you cranky."
"No it has to come in through my peripheral vision."
We went back and forth until we understood each other, but the crab was not her favorite metaphor.
But I like the idea of the crab.
If your unconscious is going to hoard something and not let you see it, its probably not a puppy or a kitten of an idea. Its going to be more like a crab.
Crabs are hard, unlovely, but undeniably real. And, it could be worse. I am not even talking snakes and spiders here. Surely those are in my unconscious too, but I am happy to leave them there.
But crabs walk sideways moving faster than you would think, you can imagine them getting away from your hoarding unconscious onto that beach that is the place of between, of productivity and possible danger. Crabs are used to moving from one medium to another, sometimes living in the water, and sometimes venturing onto land. They are only going to come out at special times when they think they can do it safely.
If it happens that you catch something out of the corner of your eye and turn your head fast, you might just see a crab scuttle away because he is as scared of you as you are of him. But maybe a little bit curious too. So he might pause before slipping away in that hole in the rock and look right at your with his beady eye.
You will know that you have seen something that is usually hidden. And you should pay attention.
She said "oh it makes you cranky."
"No it has to come in through my peripheral vision."
We went back and forth until we understood each other, but the crab was not her favorite metaphor.
But I like the idea of the crab.
If your unconscious is going to hoard something and not let you see it, its probably not a puppy or a kitten of an idea. Its going to be more like a crab.
Crabs are hard, unlovely, but undeniably real. And, it could be worse. I am not even talking snakes and spiders here. Surely those are in my unconscious too, but I am happy to leave them there.
But crabs walk sideways moving faster than you would think, you can imagine them getting away from your hoarding unconscious onto that beach that is the place of between, of productivity and possible danger. Crabs are used to moving from one medium to another, sometimes living in the water, and sometimes venturing onto land. They are only going to come out at special times when they think they can do it safely.
If it happens that you catch something out of the corner of your eye and turn your head fast, you might just see a crab scuttle away because he is as scared of you as you are of him. But maybe a little bit curious too. So he might pause before slipping away in that hole in the rock and look right at your with his beady eye.
You will know that you have seen something that is usually hidden. And you should pay attention.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Conversion
It has a ka-chunk feeling.
It's that feeling of satisfaction when a fact slips into place and suddenly you understood something that you didn't understand before. As a kid I remember having that feeling at school. Ka-chunk and suddenly I would understand what the x and y axis meant or get an image of water moving through the hydrologic cycle.
As I've gotten older I've noticed a similar feeling around a different kind of knowledge. I think of it as Knowing with a capital K. Its when my heart catches up with my head and I KNOW something. I usually already knew it with my head, perhaps for years. I had that feeling of Knowing when I drove by the low-income apartments on Sandy Blvd. one morning just as the school buses pulled in and watched as this huge horde of kids pile into the buses. I had always known that a lot of Parkrose students lived in apartments. But here they all were and so many of them! I could never look at the statistics the same way again. I had seen them and they now meant something to me.
I thought of that when I watched a clip of Wendell Potter being interviewed by Bill Moyer. Potter is an insurance executive who quit his job, and now works to expose how the insurance industry is trying to derail health-care reform. It's as good as my friend said it was, but I was fascinated by Potter's description of why he quit his job.
He had been visiting his family in Kentucky when he heard about a health fair at the county fair grounds. He was curious about it and drove over to check it out. What he saw appalled him. People in long lines, waiting for a free medical check up. Doctors doing procedures in horse stalls. He took pictures and showed them on air: hundreds of people waiting in line in the rain. He told Moyer, "I couldn't believe all the people." Moyers asks him "well didn't you know the statistics already." Potter answers "well I did, but this made it real, some of these people I probably grew up with." Potter didn't quit his job immediately but he finally did. The two realities of his high paying job and the people in the rain couldn't co-exist.
Potter had a conversion experience! We tend to think of conversion as only pertaining to religion. But Potter went through a rapid realignment of his heart, mind and soul that was as profound as the classic religious conversion. He looked out at people standing in the rain and felt that ka-chunk of real feeling. We can know something intellectually for a long time, but now and again we get the privilege of KNOWING it.
If you are interested in watching the video, Google Moyer Wendell Potter or try the link below:
http://www.pbs.org/moyers/journal/07312009/watch.html
It's that feeling of satisfaction when a fact slips into place and suddenly you understood something that you didn't understand before. As a kid I remember having that feeling at school. Ka-chunk and suddenly I would understand what the x and y axis meant or get an image of water moving through the hydrologic cycle.
As I've gotten older I've noticed a similar feeling around a different kind of knowledge. I think of it as Knowing with a capital K. Its when my heart catches up with my head and I KNOW something. I usually already knew it with my head, perhaps for years. I had that feeling of Knowing when I drove by the low-income apartments on Sandy Blvd. one morning just as the school buses pulled in and watched as this huge horde of kids pile into the buses. I had always known that a lot of Parkrose students lived in apartments. But here they all were and so many of them! I could never look at the statistics the same way again. I had seen them and they now meant something to me.
I thought of that when I watched a clip of Wendell Potter being interviewed by Bill Moyer. Potter is an insurance executive who quit his job, and now works to expose how the insurance industry is trying to derail health-care reform. It's as good as my friend said it was, but I was fascinated by Potter's description of why he quit his job.
He had been visiting his family in Kentucky when he heard about a health fair at the county fair grounds. He was curious about it and drove over to check it out. What he saw appalled him. People in long lines, waiting for a free medical check up. Doctors doing procedures in horse stalls. He took pictures and showed them on air: hundreds of people waiting in line in the rain. He told Moyer, "I couldn't believe all the people." Moyers asks him "well didn't you know the statistics already." Potter answers "well I did, but this made it real, some of these people I probably grew up with." Potter didn't quit his job immediately but he finally did. The two realities of his high paying job and the people in the rain couldn't co-exist.
Potter had a conversion experience! We tend to think of conversion as only pertaining to religion. But Potter went through a rapid realignment of his heart, mind and soul that was as profound as the classic religious conversion. He looked out at people standing in the rain and felt that ka-chunk of real feeling. We can know something intellectually for a long time, but now and again we get the privilege of KNOWING it.
If you are interested in watching the video, Google Moyer Wendell Potter or try the link below:
http://www.pbs.org/moyers/journal/07312009/watch.html
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