Lessons on Race at Divinity Hall

Posted on July 13, 2016 by smaxreisert

“First of all,” he said, “if you can learn a simple trick, Scout, you’ll get along a lot better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view […] until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”

Atticus Finch, To Kill a Mockingbird

When I was a first year grad student at Harvard Divinity School in the fall of 1989, I lived in the hallowed Divinity Hall on Divinity Avenue. The rooms in Div Hall each had little brass plates with the engraved names of former residents, like Ralph Waldo Emerson. Emerson gave his famous Divinity School Address in the chapel of Div Hall, which was just next door to the room in which I lived.

Div Hall was an amazingly diverse place, especially for someone like myself, reared in a homogeneous environment in the Boston suburbs and then educated at a small Maine college. Although Harvard Divinity School is known as a bastion of liberalism, that was not quite my experience in Div Hall. On the day I moved in, one of my new neighbors welcomed me to “Jesus Boulevard.” It turned out that I lived close to several Pentecostal students. I became friends with someone whose church affiliation was the Nazarene Church (and shared with me fascinating stories of being scared into good behavior as a child by films about the Rapture). Another friend was a Missouri Synod Lutheran. Not exactly what anyone would describe as “liberal.”

The students in Div Hall shared a large common kitchen in the basement. In that basement, many interesting conversations took place—from mundane gossip to philosophical and theological debates to the sharing of various kinds of information. The kitchen was also a great place to learn about different cultures. A group of us shared cultural experiences through a weekly dinner group. The group included a Buddhist monk (from Vietnam, I think) and my roommate, a woman from China who almost didn’t get to the Div School after what had happened in and around Tiananmen Square the previous spring.

I also learned a great deal about race, and the realities of life for those who looked different from me. I was naïve enough to think that there couldn’t be much in the way of racial problems in the late twentieth century in Cambridge, Mass, stuffed as it was with students from around the globe. But, I heard story after story, especially from the young black men who lived in Divinity Hall.

One of the stories they told was about how difficult it was for them simply to go shopping at places in Harvard Square, like the Harvard Coop, the department and book store in the middle of the Square. They couldn’t go in there without being followed by security. Often, they were also harassed in some way as well.

This, I decided, I could try to see for myself. Whenever I found myself in the Coop, I watched. I especially looked for small groups of black men. Sure enough, if there were two or three black men together, a security guard was never far away. The black men were watched, followed. Once I saw this for myself, I also realized how obvious it was. I just had never noticed.

In late October of that fall, in 1989, a man named Charles Stuart shot (and killed) his pregnant wife in the Mission Hill section of Boston, and then shot himself in the stomach. He blamed the incident on a black man. His story was widely believed.  A massive hunt ensued for the black assailant.  In the kitchen of Div Hall, though, the black students—especially the black men—were immediately suspicious.

Things got tense in that basement kitchen. And, when it turned out that there had been no black assailant, and that Charles Stuart had been the one to shoot and kill his wife and unborn child, one young black man who had been a warm, friendly presence in Div Hall, made the decision to no longer speak to any white people. He came into the kitchen, made his meal, spoke to other black students and then went on his way—no longer warm and friendly, but troubled and serious instead.

In the years since, and certainly now as I contemplate what’s going on in the United States, I’ve been thinking a lot about the shared common kitchen in the basement of Divinity Hall and wondering about the lessons I learned there—and the lessons that we all ought to take more seriously.

One lesson certainly has to do with stepping into another’s skin and walking around, learning a bit about what it means to be and to live as another person does. Considering the perspective of a black man, knowing what it means to live so often under suspicion, feared. Considering the perspective of a police officer, knowing that each day holds danger. Considering the perspective of a parent of an unarmed teen or adult who’s been shot by the police during a traffic stop, grieving deeply for the profound loss.

We live in country with “united” in its title, and yet recent events have shown that we are not united at all. We gather in our groups, with others of similar mind, experience, perspective, assuming that our own perspective, and that of those around us, is universal. We have a hard time with notions of understanding, of even attempting to appreciate the ways of life from another’s perspective.

In this time of unease, distrust, and worry (and the strange, unhelpful manifestations of these responses), we could use a little of Atticus Finch’s advice, and truly and honestly consider another’s perspective, accepting that other people have experiences that are different, and to open ourselves to learning about those other experiences. It’s not always easy to do so, and sometimes it requires a real change in how one looks at the world—including a willingness to see things one doesn’t really want to see—but it’s the only that we can move our way out of the current morass and to discover something hopeful on the other side. It’s not just about taking a little peek in another’s experience, but stepping into their skin, walking around in it, and allowing that new perspective to be a light on the path to understanding.   As the advice goes, we’ll get along a lot better “with all kinds of folks.”  Sounds like something worth the effort.

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Weddings and Church Buildings

Posted on July 7, 2016 by smaxreisert

Those who know me well know that I’m not a big fan of weddings, especially when I’m the one presiding over the event. I find that there’s usually too much emphasis on the “show,” and not so much on the meaning of the ceremony. More care is often shown to the photos than to what’s going on in the photos.

Over my eleven years at Old South, the number of weddings at which I preside has declined significantly—and I don’t think it’s because word is out that I don’t like them. Even for those connected to Old South, if I’m asked to officiate, the wedding is more often off-site at an “event venue,” where the wedding ceremony can be outside. No one seems to get married in a church building anymore—unless it’s raining outside.

I can understand the desire to have one’s wedding ceremony outside. I like the outdoors too, especially in the summer. Maine summers are beautiful indeed. I can also understand the desire to have the whole extravaganza in one location—ceremony and reception. I bet it makes things a whole lot easier for everyone.

But, I’m also aware that something is missing in these sorts of weddings. And, that something is something very important, yet often overlooked.

This past Saturday, I participated in a wedding at Old South that was truly lovely. It was a rare wedding for me, when the couple talked quite a lot about creating a meaningful ceremony. The service wasn’t very long, but it included a spectacular soloist who sang two pieces, one for the prelude, in order to “set the tone,” the couple informed me and the tone was certainly set, with praise, awe and reverence.  The service also included lengthy vows, through which the couple made promises to each other, while also acknowledging their reliance not just on the power of the love they have for each other, but the power of the love they know that is beyond themselves.

I think it would have been difficult not to notice the sense that in our gathering last Saturday morning, there was an awareness of, and inclusion of, “other.” Call it holy, or sacred, or God, there was something beyond just the human beings who gathered in that space.

It’s not that a church building is required to gain that sense of the holy, that sense of the presence of God, but it certainly helps. Outdoor weddings can sometimes draw in the “sacredness” of nature, but that’s not what I’m talking about. The beauty of nature isn’t going to be there as a source of strength and blessing when marriage gets difficult—and it will get difficult.

A church wedding certainly doesn’t guarantee that a marriage will survive, but I think it helps to begin the marriage in a stronger way. When a couple feels grounded in something beyond themselves, when there is acknowledgement of the holy and a connection to our Creator God, a wedding is not just a simple ceremony, an exchange of rings, a private exchange of promises. Instead, a wedding is worship, a place for praise and thanksgiving, an opportunity for reverence. And reverence is just what is needed to begin a good marriage.

A church building isn’t required, but it certainly helps.

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Posted on June 28, 2016 by smaxreisert

During my annual visit to the doctor’s office not long ago, I was asked if I had any interest in getting connected with their new online “patient portal.” Sure, I told them.

When I finally went to check it out, I noticed that under my name and a few other pieces of personal information, there was a box that somehow seemed to summarize the practice’s view of me and my current status: overweight.

Sure, I could lose a few pounds. I could consume fewer cookies or lower my intake of wine (especially in the summer). But, it’s not like I don’t exercise or take care of myself—because I do. I exercise vigorously 3-4 times each week. I eat my veggies and I limit my consumption of red meat, etc. I don’t smoke (cigarettes or other substances) nor do I eat a pint of ice cream every day.

Yet, as far as the medical practice is concerned, there’s just one word that sums me up: overweight.

What puzzled me even more was that my visit with the nurse practitioner didn’t even mention weight. We talked mostly about my inability to get a good, full night’s sleep, my symptoms and some possible plans of action. We also talked about some of the normal issues around aging—creaky joints and so forth.

I get the sense that, somehow, with all of the things that the nurse and nurse practitioner typed into the medical chart program that the practices uses, the program, in all of its computerly wisdom, decided that the best word to sum up my medical status was: overweight.

We live in a world of labels. It’s as if our embracing of technology has stripped us of the wealth of descriptors that are actually available in the English language. Nuance seems gone as well.

Perhaps this is part of the reason why, even though it’s not very popular in this part of the world, I stick with church. I have a renewed appreciation for the church’s ability to resist the temptation to do things like reduce people to simple (and not helpful), one-word labels. At Old South, I can be myself without worrying that everyone is trying to sum me up in one word.

It’s not that there aren’t words that are used to describe me, or that I don’t use certain “describing words” (a popular phrase in our house, since the kids went to Montessori school) to talk about others. But, I can’t think of any time, in my career as a pastor, when we’ve actively engaged in efforts to reduce people to one or two words.

Because people are just more complicated than that.

At Old South, I can think of several people who might easily be described in one or two words, mostly because of difficulties they have faced in life. But, I’ve noticed that, without ever needing to remind people, that we simply don’t do that. Instead, there’s a lot reaching out, a lot of accepting, a lot of not worrying too much about personal foibles. People are accepted for who they are—the good and the not so good.

It is through the acceptance of the whole of the person, with a whole assortment of “describing” words, that each of us trusts that we ourselves will be accepted in that way as well. And, more than that, that through such acceptance, we all become—each of us and all of us together—more, and more, like the people of God.

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After Orlando

Posted on June 18, 2016 by smaxreisert

I’ve been experiencing a sort of numbness this past week—a weariness, lurking around the edges of despair. When I heard about the shootings in Orlando last Sunday, and then the number of people killed, I felt outrage and horror. Before too long, though, the numbness and the weariness set in.

Locally and nationally, the typical sorts of things popped up in response to what happened in Orlando, another in a long parade of similar horrors—vigils, moments of silence, petitions, words of action, words of defiance. We will not give in to fear, and all of that. Instead of joining in some way, to act or to speak or simply to stand in public in solidarity, I just feel numb, weary, drained.

Despite the rising up of those sentiments of defiance, I feel sure that not a damn thing of substance will happen in the wake of this latest mass shooting. I don’t wish to show any disrespect to the families who have now joined those who live in the midst of such unutterable grief in the violent loss of family and friends, but I feel complete assurance that their lives mean little to nothing to those who could make meaningful change.

I feel sure of that. Ever since Sandy Hook.

The lives of those who were killed in Orlando mean something. They are important. But, when all those very young children were shot and killed in that elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut, and not a damn thing of substance happened in response, I became certain that nothing will stop the flood of guns, that nothing will stop the violence, that nothing will put an end to the brazen acceptance that massive expressions of violence are tolerable consequences of modern life.

I’ve attended no vigils, nor have I observed much in the way of silence. For me, right now, they seem pointless. While I can understand those who wish to do something, to feel a sense of action, taking a defiant stand against such horrific violence and the circumstances that allow such wanton killing to take place, I just can’t.

I am not, completely, anti-gun. I live in a place where I know hunters. I know that people have certain rights, and privileges.

But, I also know that people should not be able to own semi-automatic rifles, the sort weapons that the gun industry has labeled “modern sporting rifles,” as if they are all about fun and games. These are the weapons of choice, though, that have been used in recent mass shootings. These “modern sporting rifles” are killing machines, initially intended as military weapons for modern warfare. They are meant to kill quickly and efficiently, with a remarkable number of rounds shot in a remarkably short period of time.

So we add another forty-nine to the ever-growing list of those who have been hunted and killed—people, young and not so young, who loved and were loved, friends, family, lives cut short because of our national lust for access to powerful weaponry, and our twisted understanding of the rights and privileges (though not so much on responsibilities) of individuals.

The NRA likes to say that “guns don’t kill people, people kill people.” In the long catalog of mass shootings, it’s clear that guns do kill people. It is way too easy to get one’s hands on very powerful weapons, and much, much too easy to assemble an arsenal of one’s own for one’s own purposes.

From the lengthy cast of shooters, it seems clear enough that we cannot control the shooters. It’s time that we did more to control their chosen method of killing—the killing machines, the “modern sporting rifles” that are not at all sporting.

But, we won’t. There will be much talk and show, but nothing will come of it.

It’s a certainty that I would prefer to live without.

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Agenda for the Last Day

Posted on June 11, 2016 by smaxreisert

It’s almost impossible these days to ignore the undercurrent of worry and concern at Old South, especially on Sunday mornings as we wonder how many people will join us for worship. The numbers keep going down. After a couple of waves of departures and deaths over the last few years, with only a trickle of new people coming in, we are a smaller congregation—and older. The consequences are significant.

Not only is worship attendance lower, the choir is smaller than it’s been in the over ten years of my ministry with the church. There are fewer people who are able to take up the normal work of congregational life—assisting in getting the sanctuary ready for worship, providing hospitality after worship, etc. And, we have fewer people who are comfortable driving after dark, to attend meetings or evening studies.

A couple of months ago, as the Oversight Committee was preparing for a visit from the man who oversees our endowment portfolio, I found myself in the midst of a few interesting conversations. The portfolio manager has made it clear, during previous visits, that our 5% annual draw on the endowment (of a three-year rolling average) is higher than current industry standards. If we maintain our spending habits, the endowment will slowly shrink.

We have one member, a former banker, who has taken up the cause and is preparing to make the big argument that we reduce our draw. We must preserve the endowment. “It’s our “lifeblood,” he has declared.

I have begun to ask the question of why. Why bother reducing our draw? While I don’t think we should begin to spend recklessly, I wonder why we should set as a goal the preservation of an endowment that will, very likely, outlive the church.

Clearly, not many want to deal with this question. In the few individual discussions I’ve had, through which I’ve tried to gauge where the congregation is on this issue (as well as other similar issues), I’ve noticed that there’s little interest in talking about anything beyond the simple math of what we should annually draw from our endowment. Should we stay at 5% or try to reduce, to 4.5% or even 4?

In one conversation, when I suggested that the church begin to talk about a “sunset clause” to be inserted into the bylaws, I was berated for my pessimism and told that no pastor should be as negative as I am being. When I went through my usual litany, including the challenges beyond the congregation (Maine is among the most secular states in the country, with a population in decline, that Old South is located in an area that is older and lacking in young people, and that our problems are not just our problems, but problems that are shared by other churches as well as the state government that is also concerned about Maine’s aging population and seeming inability to attract new people), I was told that if a day indeed arrives when we can no longer go on, then any important decisions should be left for that day—and not a day before that day. Talking about what to do with whatever is left in the endowment, what to do with the buildings and their contents and the church’s other assets, etc. should all take place on that last day.

If we follow this one person’s advice, and I’m concerned that his ideas may gain some traction, the agenda for our last day is going to be a long one—a very long one.

While I can understand the reluctance to look full on into the reality that Old South’s future is likely a short one, I feel sure that talking about our demise will be a good thing—and may very well provide significant opportunities to reflect meaningfully on why Old South is so important to us. These conversations will certainly bring much grief and sadness, but they may also bring signs of life. Why does this church matter to us? Why do we care?

Conversations about those “end of life” issues should bring us face-to-face with what our “lifeblood” truly is, for it is not our endowment. If, though, it turns out that our lifeblood is the endowment, we might as well schedule our last day as soon as possible, for there’s no point in preserving a wealth management club that just happens to meet on Sunday mornings. Personally, I think there’s more there, more that is part of this small group of older people. It’s time to find it, and embrace it, and figure out who we are and to whom we belong.

Posted in Buildings, Doomed, Studies, Demographics, Reality | Leave a comment

Nick Kristof Could Be Writing About the United Church of Christ

Posted on June 2, 2016 by smaxreisert

Over the last few weeks, Nick Kristof has written at least twice in the New York Times about the lack of ideological diversity on college and university campuses in the United States. Most colleges and universities seem to place diversity high on their list of values for the academy, but diversity seems only to involve race, class, ethnicity, some (but not all) religions, gender and sexuality. Ideological diversity is woefully lacking.

We know this all too well in our own household, as my husband is one of only a very small number of Republicans among the faculty at Colby College in Waterville, Maine, and may be the only one to be “out” as a Republican. I remember when we first moved to the Colby community. There were a few people who were obviously standoffish with me, and with Joe. And, then after we had lived here for a little while and word got out that I did not share my husband’s political views, most of those people warmed up to me immediately, although they admitted that they couldn’t understand how any good Democrat could be married to a Republican. The situation has remained largely the same over the years.

In the United Church of Christ, there’s a similar situation. The denomination talks a great deal about “welcome” and “diversity,” that these are significant values, sacred even. Dig a little deeper, though, and it’s all too clear that welcome and diversity have limits. A visit to the UCC webpage offers a line-up of liberal (sometimes extremely liberal) causes and calls to action.

In and of itself, the UCC’s consistent liberal stance is not necessarily a problem. Churches and denominations are involved in all sorts of issues that pertain to the human condition—the good, the bad and the ugly (and in at least some instances, thank goodness for that).  And, many denominations and churches are, more or less, consistent in how their theology shapes their approach to situations and circumstances of how we humans live, govern ourselves, etc.

The problem for the United Church of Christ is its hypocrisy in upholding consistently liberal leanings, while also claiming to be a denomination of “extravagant welcome” to all. In many a UCC church (as well as on the denomination webpage) you’ll see and/or hear the refrain “no matter who you are, or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here.”

At the national level, though, that welcome actually goes only so far. More conservative voices are clearly missing.  As Nick Kristof has shared, diversity of ideology is important. When people surround themselves only with others with whom they agree, their gatherings become echo chambers. And, more than that, there is a tendency to stray to an unacknowledged liberal arrogance, where one side is considered “right,” and the other side not just wrong, but stupid.

In the United Church of Christ, a denomination with strictly congregational polity (local churches may follow, or not follow, the lead of the national body, as they themselves feel the call of the Spirit), diversity can be found at the local church level—at least, in the churches I’ve served. It’s certainly true at Old South. We have staunch Democrats, a few staunch Republicans, and an array of strong (and not so strong) independents (in Maine, there’s a value in independence). Somehow, we are all able to share this one church. And more than that, many find the diversity of ideology an attractive quality of the congregation. They like the exchange of ideas and have found ways of having thoughtful and respectful, if animated and heated at times, conversations with people with whom they disagree. Everyone benefits. The community is strengthened.

As I’ve found in my own house, diversity of ideology can be difficult and frustrating, but it also offers an opportunity for reflection and development of ideas. I can’t just take a side on an issue without knowing why I’m doing so. The same is true for my husband, and our children.

The national setting of United Church of Christ would do well to follow the lead of some of these local churches where ideological diversity is lived out. While it means that there are places where no strong “call to action” may be discerned and employed, I suspect that we may find a newer and deeper sense of what it means to be God’s people in the world. There’s more to witnessing than taking a political side, after all.  There’s more to welcoming than trying to force people to adopt certain views, or to marginalize those who don’t tow the ideological line.

To be truly welcoming is to appreciate all sorts of diversity, not just the kinds of diversity that make us feel good.   If God is still speaking, as the UCC slogan goes, then God is probably not solely speaking in support of liberal causes.  God may very well be speaking in ways that are hard to hear, and understand.  Leaders of the denomination should recognize this and should live, and work, more conscientiously by it.

Extravagant welcome should mean what it says.

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The Strength in Small Numbers

Posted on May 26, 2016 by smaxreisert

Every year, during commencement weekend at Colby College (where my husband is a professor), there’s a dinner to celebrate those receiving honorary degrees from the College. Faculty and administrators gather for this festive evening, during which each degree recipient has an opportunity to share a few thoughts with the audience.

This year, one of the honorary degree awards went to Edison Liu, President and CEO of Jackson Laboratory, a biomedical research institution in Bar Harbor, Maine. During his remarks, Dr. Liu shared his thoughts on the strength of small—small places, small groups, small communities, small companies. Small can change the world, he reminded us.

I was thinking about small as I cleaned up after our Sunday worship service, on the morning after the honorary degree dinner. Old South is not only small as a congregation, but we also have a small Sunday School—3 boys, the oldest one in kindergarten. Plus, one toddler girl who desperately wants to join in the fun.

Sunday was Children’s Sunday. With our focus on our almost microscopic Sunday School, we were feeling particularly small in number. We weren’t quite sure what was going to happen. This spring, the Sunday School had offered lessons on the “Fruits of the Spirit” (love, kindness, generosity, etc.), but no one knew if the boys would really be wiling to show even the tiniest bit of something they had learned.

In the end, though, it was a wonderful, worship-ful service. One of the boys insisted on sitting up in the chancel with me for most of the service. Another boy wanted to help me with the benediction.

Yes, the group is very small, but there is an unmistakable strength. In this small group, I know those boys—not very well, but I know them. And, they know me. When Timothy decided, sometime near the beginning of the service, to sit with me in the chancel, it was no big deal. When James wanted to help out with the benediction (also not planned in advance), holding out his own arms in blessing, we could do that together. I knew how to talk to James so that he would follow my lead and would know what to do. And, no one in the congregation shook their heads in disapproval.

In such a small congregation, which is getting smaller, it sometimes takes a little something to remind us that there’s strength, and significance, in our small numbers. Our shrinking numbers often bring worry and concern, and sometimes something like an apology for the low attendance. We often allow ourselves to see only the negative aspects of our small gathering. Certainly, there are problematic dimensions to our smallness. But, not everything is bad.

It seems an awfully big task to think that we might be able to change the world, but in our own way, that’s exactly what we do. It’s not big or grand, but it’s there in the ways that we share the love of God, in how we reach out to each other, in the places where we reach out to the community and the world in which we live. We won’t likely change much of anything on a large scale, but in our small gathering, we may just change the lives of a few people. As we seek to live out our experience of God’s love and as we live out the “fruits of the Spirit” in our everyday lives, we do the work of God. It’s not big, but it’s a wonderful thing.

Posted in My Life as Pastor, On the Hopeful Side | Leave a comment

Seeing Through Stars

Posted on May 17, 2016 by smaxreisert

I attended the GLAAD Media Awards this past Saturday evening in New York City with my very good friends Jenny and Deedie Finney Boylan. It wasn’t hard for me, as a person who lives life mostly as a country bumpkin in Central Maine, to get a little star struck. From my seat in the ballroom, I could just about reach out and tap Diane Sawyer on the shoulder (though I didn’t).  She was sitting next to Caitlyn Jenner (that’s Diane Sawyer’s hair on the right side of the photo):

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I was comforted by the fact that I wasn’t the only clergyperson goggling at celebrities, but I’ll let my clergy colleague—who asked me to take more than one photo of her with a celebrity at the gala—remain unidentified.

I also had a great view of the back of Mariah Carey’s head

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and a view of Robert De Niro (unfortunately, he was a little too far away for a good photo).

Earlier in the day, I had the opportunity to hang out in Caitlyn Jenner’s suite at the Waldorf. She was in a bathrobe getting her hair and makeup done. I didn’t think it fair to take a photo of that, since I wouldn’t want anyone to do that to me.  But here’s a photo of Deedie and me, after getting some professional treatment in the “green room”:

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It wasn’t hard to get a little star struck at the event, but now that the show is over and I’m heading back to my country bumpkin life, I’ve been reflecting a bit on the spectacle and realizing that the real stars of the evening were not the celebrities whose names everyone knew and who barely got a moment of peace between people approaching to speak to them and to take photos.

The real stars of the evening were the Maines family, who were introduced at the gala by Tamron Hall. The father of the family, Wayne,  spoke lovingly and thoughtfully about being the father of a transgender child (now a young adult). He spoke of his journey, and of the transition that he had to make, letting go of certain hopes and dreams for his identical twin boys, facing his fears and opening his heart to a new set of hopes and dreams, involving identical twins who are actually a boy and a girl. It was clear that, while he is in a good place now, he’s been on a painful and often difficult journey which has involved loving, supporting and encouraging both children in ways that he had never anticipated.

I can’t say that I have much in common with Mr. Maines, except that I’m a parent myself.  Perhaps that’s why I was so drawn to his remarks.  But, I am not the parent of a transgender child and there are no—identified—transgender people in my family. I have some relationship, though, with the transgender world, as the friend of a transgender person and her family. I’ve been thinking about that journey as well.

At Saturday’s GLAAD gala, there was a lot of talk about allies and friends, as that was highlighted in the awards given to Mariah Carey and Robert De Niro. But, it seems clear to me that there are other truly significant allies and friends, and family, and those are the people who, in the course of their very ordinary lives, live out the notion that we should strive for acceptance and good relationship, that we should love others as we want to be loved ourselves. We should be more willing to recognize and face our own fears when we don’t understand, seeking knowledge before judgment.

While celebrities might be able to point the way, the work is done in a lot of smaller, seemingly inconsequential, moments.  Each of us has the ability to light that path, showing kindness, loving and respecting people for who they are—in the ordinary corners, families and communities in which we live. It’s not very glamorous, but it’s what truly counts.

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People and Places

Posted on May 12, 2016 by smaxreisert

During a recent visit to New York City, I visited the September 11 Memorial for the first time.  Like most adults, I remember exactly what I was doing and where I was when I learned of the attacks on that bright, sunny Tuesday morning in 2001. Still, the memorial, while moving and haunting, seemed surreal and distant to me. Until about a decade ago, I had visited New York City only a handful of times, so I’ve never felt a particularly strong connection.

By contrast, the bombings in London, in July 2005, felt much closer, and personal. Although I was a long way away at the time of the attack on London, my family and I had lived in London for a short time in 2004. I remember one particular afternoon, when my children and I were taking a long walk, we came across Tavistock Square (where the bus bomb was detonated) and spent some time wandering around the little park in the middle of the Square, a park dedicated to peace. There’s a statue of Mathatma Ghandi and trees planted in remembrance of Hiroshima and Nagasaki (more information here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tavistock_Square). When I heard of the London attack, and learned about where the bombs went off, I felt a deep sense of loss and outrage. Those were places I knew, where I had not only spent time, but meaningful time.

It’s not uncommon for people to develop a sense of connection to certain geographical locations. Sometimes these connections are strong ones. Places come to mean something to us—they spark strong memory or emotion, perhaps both; they evoke a sense of belonging, of kinship, of community; they offer a compelling, physical tie to something both a part of us and beyond us.

When it comes to the Christian faith, though, we are encouraged to resist that strong sense of place or connection, in terms of geography and the physical nature of human life. I’ve always found it interesting that Christ chose to show himself on that first Easter morning in small, intimate ways, rather than in the large and dramatic. There’s not much about the surroundings, except that they are outside an empty tomb. One gets the sense that it’s not so much about place, but about relationship. And, even more so when Christ warns Mary not to touch him. We are drawn in through our connection with Christ, rather than a connection to a certain physical place.

Yet, many Christians cannot help but get caught up in attaching themselves to places, especially church buildings. For quite a few of those who attend Old South, for example, the building in which we worship is a vital piece of the connection to the God we worship. When we worship in the Parish House in the winter (across the street from the church building), a couple of people stay away altogether and a few others attend only grudgingly.

The first winter that we tried worship in the Parish House (it’s an easier and cheaper building to heat, plus it’s closer to the parking area so not as challenging to get into when it’s snowy and icy), it was interesting to find that quite a few people found themselves truly drawn to the experience. Although it was at first seen as something born out of necessity, it became something meaningful and valuable. For many, the new surroundings offered a better path to better relationship. In the Parish House, people sit closer to each other. The space feels more intimate, friendlier. For some, the Parish House was more akin to “church” than the church building with its beautiful sanctuary.  I felt closer to community.

Although not everyone got “on board,” it offered a glimmer of hope for the future.

Christians—whether forced to by shrinking congregations or not—must discover ways of living out the faith that are not so bound to physical locations. This is painful for many, to be sure, and an especially unwelcome dimension for those who are older and perhaps weary of change. Our Christian faith, though, speaks to us to resist attachment to physical things.  Instead, we must reclaim and rekindle our connection to the One who is not contained in any earthly, physical place or location, but is found when we gather together in Christ’s name.

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What Else Can I Buy at Target?

Posted on May 4, 2016 by smaxreisert

In the strange debates that can pop up between liberals and conservatives, I often find myself, while not in agreement with conservatives, at least able to see how the point they are making may have come to be or why it might be so important to them. I am married to a conservative, after all. Over the years, I’ve learned a thing or two.

In the current ridiculousness around bathrooms, trangender people, and the fear and suspicion that predators will eagerly take advantage of laws and policies that allow people to use bathrooms that correspond with their gender identity (which may not be the gender of their birth), dressing up as women to prey on “little girls” in public restrooms, I cannot for the life of me understand how we got here, or wrap my head around the mindset of those who are eager to pass, or support, such bathroom laws and policies.

And, now one of the players in the drama is Target, as Target has decided that employees and customers should be able to use the bathroom that corresponds with their gender identity. Conservatives have gone into full protest mode, with conservative groups encouraging a boycott of Target.

I’m with Target. And there I will shop.

This whole bathroom insanity is truly mind-boggling to me. Are these people actually using their brains at all? How exactly are they going to protect the public restrooms of women and “young girls” (Ted Cruz seems especially eager to protect “young girls,” especially since he has a couple of them, who seem to be wandering on a regular basis into public restrooms without their mother or another adult friend or family member) anyway? Shall we “brand” people on the forehead at birth with their gender just so there’s no confusion? Will stores and highway rest areas need to hire security to sit outside rest rooms in order to check ID?

It seems especially ludicrous to dwell on the fears that predators using transgender sensitive policies when there’s absolutely no evidence that such a thing has happened. Where is the fear coming from and why is gaining traction? Hasn’t it occurred to these deeply fearful people that, with or without transgender sensitive bathroom policies, predators can dress up as women and enter public women’s restrooms any time they want?

Ted Cruz likes to refer to “common sense” when he states that we shouldn’t allow adult men to dress up as women in order to prey on little girls in rest rooms. I wonder about his definition of “common sense.” Doesn’t he have even the remotest clue that his precious little girls are actually in way more danger around family, friends and neighbors? According to the US Department of Justice, 90% of child sexual abuse victims know the perpetrator in some way. 68% are abused by a family member. Is it “common sense” to ignore reality?

The so-called Christian American Family Association—that called for the Target boycott—has unleashed a wave of unpleasantness, nonsense and rage. How can these “Christians” opt for fear instead of humanity, hatred instead of love, suspicion instead of knowledge? They seem all too eager to live out of anger and hatred of “others”—before taking even a moment to think.

Thinking is crucial, though, especially in this increasingly complicated and uncertain world. Fear and hatred will not bring back “simpler” times. We must be thoughtful and willing to consider why certain things tap into our fear, knowing that fear can be one of the most dangerous dimensions of our human life. Perhaps that’s why Jesus was always telling those around him not to fear. Sure, it’s easier said than done. But, these days, it seems there lots of “Christians” who refuse even to try, to try not to fear, not to fear that which seems different.  And, that’s harmful for everyone.

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