Racist On Purpose

I keep hearing people say that they are not racist. Some even dare pull out the phrase "colorblind" which I've learned is truly a bullshit phrase that helps no one.

Saying that you aren't racist, and saying that you are colorblind, is a quick way to anger just about any person that has faced racism in their lifetime. But I get it, you really don't believe you are racist. Even those of you who really really are racist don't think you are. One guy who marched in Charlottesville spouted some ridiculous tale about how he wasn't racist, but just concerned about white history being erased. Lord have mercy on all of our souls.

I think this is a special (and evil) form of white logic. Maybe it's human, but we white people take a double dip. We are essentially saying that if we aren't racist on purpose, or if we aren't fully aware of it- it doesn't count. Even simpler: we just really don't ever want to take responsibility for anything. Our idea of justice is our assumed innocence. This innocence must stand over every other fact. So a child who is murdered in the street. It can't possibly be about race because I'm not racist on purpose. I was scared, startled, blah blah blah. Every excuse that will keep me from facing a mirror.

Here's a scary thing, racism is not something any of us Americans have been excused from. If you have grown up in America, you have grown up with a culture that has conditioned you to think, fear, respect, suspect, a certain way. It's called systemic racism: where even if you were taught by lovely people to do loving things, you are still part of a system that is bent by racism. Even if you aren't racist on purpose, you are still racist.

OK- so I did sort of just say we are all racist. I stand by that, but clearly there are divisions of racism with 0 being an infant and 10 being Hitler. If we all start our day by saying "at least I'm not Hitler" and then forgetting about it, we're not doing the work. We have to look in the mirror and say: "I locked my door when that black guy walked by. I need to think about why I did that, and possibly get out of my white bubble." That's a start. We need to check ourselves, and listen to people who are not like us- and see what they have to say.

I confess: when the whole Charlottesville thing was happening, I was hiding on vacation and thinking "same old shit." I'm sad that it doesn't surprise me. But I feel like we should stop pulling out the tired "in this day and age" expressions. YES- in THIS day and EVERY age. ALWAYS. So let's do something! I learned that progress isn't linear when Trump was elected. We have to literally never stop fighting. It's exhausting, but letting the darkness win is worse.

After Charlottesville, I thought "same old shit" and my white opinions won't help anyone. But then my friends of color started saying things on social media like "Don't be silent. Speak up. Silence is complicity." And I thought- well shit- I'm certainly not racist, I don't feel like me saying that helps anyone. What am I supposed to say?! But then I remembered- of course I'm racist- I grew up mostly in the south- that stuff sticks. So what do I say?

A friend wrote an article- so I shared her words. A world-renown museum posted a video, I shared that. 

But still this idea of people thinking "I'm not racist on purpose" kept echoing in my brain. So I am writing about it- another white girl talking about racism. But like my friends said: silence is complicit. 

If you are a person, then you have issues with race that you need to deal with. You may need healing. You may need wisdom. You may need a sit down with yourself to talk about your priorities. I don't know- but no more of this "I'm not racist" shit. You are a complex human born into a complex world. Our world has not yet fully developed the tools and wisdom for handling differences. We still get bullied in school if our ears are too big, or if we're really short, or if we like weird music. We're crazy dumb as a species if you think about it. Clearly we have not yet evolved to the nirvana of not being racist.

To think that you have somehow glided through this life squeaky clean of all societal influences is really a great way to label yourself as totally oblivious. If you think that race is not a problem (or not your problem), you have a problem.

Let me get out of the way the people who are legit racist on purpose with a burning cross in their hands and a swastika tattooed on their eyelid. Those folk have some serious issues- but honestly- their awareness of their hatred gets them maybe one step closer to healing if they are ever willing to think about it. But their issues are not our issues- and our issues are so much harder because we're basically a bunch of alcoholics who won't admit we have a problem.

We have to be willing to admit that we are racist. Then we can sort our issues. That's a really vulnerable and humble thing to do. We Americans are shit at humble. We white Americans are even worst. We white Christian Americans- damn near impossible. We have built an empire out of our own piety.

Saying that people aren't racist on purpose only makes it harder to stop getting black people shot. They truly could not give a single fuck about whether you meant to have a racist reaction or not. From what I gather, people of color just want to at the very least not get shot. Of course there are significantly higher goals like equality- but the reason there are so many protests right now is because it is survival mode right now. They are literally suffocating, bleeding, wasting away on the streets and all America has to say is "well it can't be racism, because it wasn't racism on purpose." How absolutely maddening.

So- you are racist. Yes. Stop ignoring it, stop hiding in your self-serving guilt and shame. You're not the one unicorn who completely missed every cultural reference and flew over the systemic tide curved by racism. You just aren't. That's OK. Join me and confront it. It might be humiliating, but we need the fire of that journey if we are to have any hope as a human species. Maybe we in America could be actual beacons of light for racial healing? It's a crazy tall order- but why not?

What am I doing? I fumbling like a moron, but I'm paying attention. I'm paying attention to the stuff that I watch- if it doesn't have any people of color, I take a note and try to watch stuff that isn't all white. I'm reading literature by people of color- and listening. I read Ta-Nehisi Coates' Between the World and Me, a good book. I read Maya Angelou's autobiography I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, my first Angelou read ever. I'm reading Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I have The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead on my nightstand- pretty sure it's going to wreck me. I have really curly hair and I'm using Shea Moisture products for it- which is not to say I have black hair- but the products work for me and I feel stupid for never considering going into the "ethnic" hair section. An added benefit is I'm supporting a company that isn't owned by an old white guy. I'm trying something as simple as attempting to memorize spelling unfamiliar names rather than saying- oh God how can I ever remember to spell that- let me look it up. It's a feeble start but I'm trying. And I will definitely do something wrong, say something wrong, not know something, not recognize something, something. And that's OK- because this is not about me being right. It's about me learning and trying to shed 36 years of living in American racism.

So- just because you aren't racist on purpose, doesn't mean you aren't racist. Start somewhere- anywhere- in addressing that simple fact. 

Fragility

Today I saw a gorgeous butterfly flailing on the concrete sidewalk outside the coffee shop. It was suffering a completely futile fight. The frail wings were failing, with the right one completely rent in two.

I related the absolute frailty of the butterfly to my newfound horror at our human frailty-- to the story line in Battlestar Gallactica. Yes- I made that leap. In the show (spoiler alert) there are humans who are actually Cylons in disguise. Cylons are machines.... with a highly developed evolution (and who had basically eradicated a huge proportion of the human population in this story line- so humans HATED them). There were people who didn't even KNOW they were secretly Cylons. These Cylon human clones had emotional issues. They were super pissed at their creator (another machine? can't remember) for making them so frail. I thought this was sort of cocky on the Cylon's part since they didn't ever die (sort of). But NOW I kinda get what the author was going for (or unintentionally going for- as art tends to do its own thing). These machines knew their potential, they knew their strength. Yet they had been trapped inside this incredibly fragile human body. How humiliating and cruel. How demeaning and torturous. How strangely relatable.

When I saw that fluttering butterfly, I thought- if that insect has any self-awareness- that is sheer torture right there. It hit me that we humans are frail. Super frail. I identified with that butterfly in ways I did not want to. I realized we are a beautiful mess of cells that somehow mostly know how to work. But one bad cell could make the whole thing come crashing down. One wrong turn, bad deed, misstep- can break us.

That's just physical. Our mental capacities for torture are endless. Our bodies might be frail, but our minds have caverns to hold trauma, pain, fears, insecurities, etc. The band Guster has a song with a line "Step on a kid, he'll grow up hating you." We're super frail.

We have very little control over it. We were born this way, with squishy skin and vulnerable minds. Sure- we can protect ourselves as much as we can- but there is NO such thing as secure. In fact in our fabulous design- the more secure we are- the more neurotic. SO if you stay at home and don't actually relate to people- you are also insane. To live is to risk is to have pain is to be vulnerable is to be frail is to be trampled. The biggest joy is inseparable from the most terrifying risks. To that, I feel like the Cylon looking at God and saying: Why the hell would you do this to me? Why is THIS your physics? Metaphysics? Why on earth would we be subject to this? IS the joy worth it?

A man in his twenties just took a picture of the flailing butterfly.

The horrors. He's smiling. Does he know he just took a picture of our souls? Does he find it beautiful? Is it not too much?

If we are so special - why are we so insignificant? If we are so important, why are we so powerless? If we are so influential, why are we a speck?

I am transcribing the information cards of family members who were killed during the holocaust. Their certificates of incarceration are tiny slivers of paper that you thumb through like you thumb through a phonebook. You don't even open it, you just feel the sensation of so many pieces of paper running along your fingertips. These people were significant to very few. Their significance at this point was really only in their addition to the heft of the book of records. They added another ounce to the scale of evil, tipped over by the tons.

The frailty of the human experience is enough to paralyze me. When I stop to glimpse it, like I glimpsed the butterfly, I can't bear it. It's too much. It's too painful. It's torture.

Pastor Spouse

Let me tell you something. I had an epiphany the other day that was about 10 or so years late. I realized that being the spouse of a pastor means that making friends is going to be harder.

I mean. I knew this. But when chatting with a new friend, she confessed that if she knew before we started chatting that I was the pastor's wife, she wouldn't have talked to me. I TOTALLY got it. Because I would do the same exact thing. I feel the same way about people who exercise. I am friends with people who exercise- obviously- but it's an intimidating thing for me. So if you're wearing work-out clothes and are clearly actually working out regularly- I'll probably stay mute around you. Just your muscles are enough to make me doubt all of my daily choices. Who wants that kind of pressure? Same I guess with pastor's spouses. Just my regular church attendance makes you feel like a heathen.

So I knew this little fact, and I knew that the perception was there, but I guess I thought maybe I was the exception to the rule? Because, you know, I'm cool. Right? Well, I'm actually so uncool. And also,  no one will know if they don't talk to me to begin with. So then I wondered- how many normal people just start out avoiding me? How many friends have not been made because someone was afraid to say "shit" around me? Or how many sweet people have I scared away because I said "shit" when they were expecting "bless it?" I'm in that awkward in between. I don't bake or play the piano, I don't bless it or pray it away. I say shit and damn and for the love of pete. I also love the church and have a seminary degree. My undergraduate degree is in Philosophy and if you want to contemplate the meaning of life, expanding love and metaphysics, I'm in.

I realized that I was actually included in the "pastor's spouse" club when I was creepily eavesdropping on some moms who were talking about our church's preschool. I can't help it- I can read lips, and like reading a billboard- if it's in front of me- it's read. So I saw the church name coming out of the lips of a fellow mom, and I smiled to myself thinking how nice it is to have the church's preschool be such a positive mention. I thought I was eavesdropping without staring, but then another mom points to me and says: "She's the pastor's wife!" I smiled hella awkward and waved. I WAVED. What is wrong with me?! The other mom, who had been informed of my so-called title, took one look at me and my awkward wave, smiled, and continued with the conversation. Then it dawned on me. Oh my God. I'm the pastor's wife. I am standing here, awkwardly waving, like a doofus, and this lady is likely hoping that I don't talk to her. I mean- I'm totally projecting here- but I thought about if I were HER. I'd steer the hell away from me. Because no one wants to be friends with a saint. I'm not one, but what do I do- start flashing people and swearing up a storm? It's hopeless. Besides- who waves when someone points you out during a conversation that you are technically not part of?? Me. I do.

I'm terrible at fitting into any stereotype- good or bad. A friend of mine does Tarot cards (see- I just threw you off there didn't I?)- he used the whole deck and still had no idea what my future held. I did one of those personality tests on Facebook and my result: 94% complexity. I don't even know what that means (I didn't read it to find out). Since I have a "title" as a spouse of clergy- in some ways I will always be either filling or challenging a person's idea of what that person looks like. It's a trap! It doesn't help that I happen to be awkward, say weird things, don't love crowds or being in charge of things. I'm ridiculously protective of my children against rude people and want to be with them but not all the time. I have really passionate opinions that I have learned to mostly keep to my damn self unless it falls out sideways, then who knows what foot I will stick in my mouth. You know how people go somewhere and say to themselves "these are my people?" The time I felt that feeling most strongly was during an hour of silence with people. Silent people apparently are my people.

So I thought about all the things that go with the stereotype of being a pastor's spouse... and I wrote stuff about it...

I have a love-hate relationship with the church. I don't sing out loud in church because I can't sing and I've listened to enough church music snobs to know better than to throw them off their groove. And when I say this to people - they assure me that I should be making a joyful noise, but I know better than they do because I have heard the meetings and the comments and the ridiculousness- so no- I will not sing in church unless it's my favorite song. Even then, I sing low. I love communion- and kinda wish I was always helping serve it. I also find myself thinking during communion at this new church: who the hell are all these people and why do I still not know them?!

I hate the institutional mud that prevents progress and grace. In fact, I hate it so much that I have become completely apathetic about it and when I hear about conflicts in the church (universal and local), I act like some postmodern prophet who is just so over all that shit. If someone asks me how I feel about a certain topic - I have to think about how my response will affect my husband's ability to do his job. But I also suck at lying- so if someone asks me point blank- I'll answer truthfully. When I listen to my husband (or anyone) preach, half the time I'm dreaming about what I would have preached. During services sometimes I fantasize about complete remodels of the church grounds, sanctuary, parsonage, or even what a church would look like if I could build it from the ground up. Yet at the same time I sometimes look around and wonder what the next evolution of the Church will look like- will it even have buildings?

I have opinions that I choose not to share because I don't want to be put in charge. I slip away some Sundays to go to a different worship environment because I'm not the same faith tradition as my husband. I care about the church but keep it at an arm's length because we move, and the church changes, and people change. I have seen wonderful people get really mean. I have seen mean people be uncommonly kind. And when those same people can literally affect your household income - you learn to stay out of it.

During church when you sit and worry about normal things like being a good person (or when you're at home and enjoying a relaxing day with your family), I'm wondering if my husband remembered to change that one weird line in the sermon that I edited last night. I won't care enough to stress about it- but it'll feel like a missed note in a piano recital that only I notice. During the passing of the peace, I'm trying to manage how to be friendly and not stand-offish, but also not pick favorites, but not ignore people, but smile. I generally say hello only to people in the pew in front and behind me- and act like I physically can't leave my pew. Because if I leave my pew- then I have broadened my parameters beyond my abilities. I have to work on not laughing when my husband does something funny that only I notice- because it's a weird joke that we share about some mannerisms that no one else pays attention to.

I am trying to give my kids the space to develop their own spirituality, while also making sure that their over-comfort with church doesn't offend someone when they are literally lying down in the pew or have their feet up on the bible rack in front of them. When they were really little it was a huge battle just to keep them from running to hug dad- while he's "working." My children dress themselves  for church and I have very low standards- because I never want them to think that they have to look a certain way to please God. At the same time I pray that no one mentions their sweatpants or cowlick to me- because I have larger battles to fight and that is not one of them- and I might stick my foot in my mouth again. I've tried not to care about my hair, my makeup, or the way my children are dressed. If I show up clothed and not too late- I've achieved the task I set before me. Even all that has been a few years of working on letting go- and it hasn't been because people don't notice or comment on any of it.

People who get to just GO to church and hide? Or NOT go to church and no one notices? Lucky. That used to be me.

I'm an introvert who likes people a lot and is very friendly. But I have my emotional and physical limits. Church is like my weekly 5K. People talking to me, greeting me, inviting me, asking me, telling me, smiling at me, knowing me, noticing me. None of it is bad but all of it is exhausting.  Now add to that the hilarity that I'm deaf. I can hear- I have hearing aids- but it just takes like 7 times more energy for me to actually pay attention to what people are saying and respond with words that have meaning. So let's upgrade church to marathon level. I run a mental marathon every week. With my kids. The longer I'm in the building, the weaker my filter becomes, and the fuzzier my focus becomes.  There is- every Sunday- that moment when I know it is time. Time to jet. Time to leave before the chariot turns back into a pumpkin.

I have to wonder if my husband's job (and my job if I go back to chaplaincy) will turn my children away from religion and faith (our collective passion). Do doctors and lawyers worry that their children will despise medicine and law? One of my passions is spiritual exploration, and I often explore beyond the boundaries of the institution that employs my husband and the institution I might need to confirm my ability to serve as a chaplain. That exploration beyond has prevented me once from being ordained as I mentioned in a previous blog. It's a unique field to be employed in. I have no desire for my kids to follow in our footsteps- not because it's so hard- but because it is so lonely.

I have never chosen my own residence. It's kind of hard engaging in conversation with people about housing because I can't relate to any of it except maybe military housing (although your standards of inspection are far higher and scarier than ours). I can't complain about housing costs because we don't pay a mortgage or rent. I can't get excited about housing renovations or even new appliances because we don't have control over that. I can't empathize about down payments, rent increases, or deposits. I can't talk reasonably about why we picked our house because we didn't pick it. I'm even a little embarrassed about where we live in a way because it is so nice and I feel like I'm out of my league. But how do you communicate that? "Sorry my house is so big- we don't pay rent." Sounds great. When people come to our house and compliment us "What a nice house!" I respond with the awkward "Thanks so much- the church owns it- aren't we lucky?" (Hashtag blessed??) How can that not be awkward?

I love living in a parsonage because we don't have the financial burden of fixing the roof when it leaks or replacing the fridge (although I finally decided I DID want to pick my own fridge and just bought it my damn self). However, having grown up in the military, I wonder if I'll ever have a space that's fully mine. A place I chose. I don't want fancy things, I just want someplace where my roots can remain. Even gardening sometimes feels foolish. I feel ungrateful when I complain about living in a house that is essentially free (we pay taxes on it, but no rent). But I see people slowly make their home theirs and I wonder what it would be like to save up for hardwood floors and then do it- without asking anyone's permission. Or to knock out a wall- because we can. Or when the hot water heater dies, to have a choice about what kind of replacement to get- to go tankless or something fun like that. Or to put in a ridiculous thing like a hot tub - because no one is around to judge you for it. Instead, my back yard faces my husband's work: incredibly convenient, but a constant reminder that this is not really our home. Any money we put into it is an offering- and we always try to leave a parsonage better than we found it.

I know things. Because people confess to me. It's an occupational and personality hazard. I appreciate that people feel safe with me. I love it- because there is something sacred that happens when people are willing to be vulnerable with you. It can be a challenge, because I have to be careful who I am vulnerable with. The reason my husband and I are so close (one of them anyway) is because we are each other's confessor. There is no one else. We don't have our own pastor. We don't have our own group in the church that we can be completely real with. We cannot- for integrity - share some of our secrets with anyone. They aren't ours to share.

With all the secrets and heartaches- I see the backstage of the church. In some ways it makes the whole thing more real and beautiful, in others it makes it all feel like a giant facade. I know a lot of people's pain in ways that most people don't get access to. I never want to lose that- it makes me more grateful and vulnerable and compassionate. But it also means that I am shit at shallow. So it can get awkward fast if you just want to talk about your kid's t-ball team. I am thrilled they are in sports- can you tell me your soul's deepest desires? Oh right, we just met. Sorry bout that.

So as you can see, the pastor's spouse is probably someone you'll just want to avoid. It's just too bad it's me.

Non-Violence and America

Today there was a shooting (actually more than one) - but the high profile one was in Alexandria involving Representative Scalise and congressional staff and Capital police officers. I hate it, and I hate the ease with which we seem to be able to maim and kill each other. I pray for all who suffer under violence.

After learning that the shooter had been a volunteer in his campaign, Bernie Sanders made a statement of his horror and condemned the actions. In his statement, he said this: "Violence of any kind is unacceptable in our society... Real change can only come about from non-violent action and anything else runs counter to our most deeply held American values."

I deeply respect Sanders' comments and believe they come from an authentic place of sorrow for what happened today.

But something about his words struck me. I'm in the middle of reading Ta-Nehisi Coates' book "Between the World and Me." Through this book, I've already been introduced to concepts that have completely transformed my thinking. Coates speaks about American history in contrast with African American history. Growing up, the ascribed American heroes (founding fathers, war heroes, etc) are heroes in violence. They are conquerers. They fight for our freedom, they stake their claims, they are enmeshed in war and violence. African Americans were not allowed the same heroes. Their heroes had to be that of non-violence to fit into history books. I finally understood the appeal of Malcolm X. It was a light bulb moment for me as I re-watched the scenes of American history through this new lens. I am not saying it nearly as eloquently as Coates, and I recommend that if you have never read this book, you do so soon.

This thing that Coates brought to my attention, I never really saw it before. And now, I can't unseen it. As a Christian, I believe deeply in non-violence. I believe that it is the moral high ground as well as the best and true way to begin a new thing. I agree with Martin Luther King, Jr. that "hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that."

However, as I listened to Sanders' speech, I couldn't help but think... No- no, violence isn't unacceptable in our society. In fact, we are deeply violent. Look at our justice system, with capital punishment that is the very epitome of the "an eye for an eye" mentality. Look on social media when people speak about things that other people disagree with- you will find horrifyingly violent responses. Minorities and women seem to be the most common victims of these violent outbreaks. We have a government who is unable to pass reasonable gun legislation for the very reason of violence: people want to be able to 'protect their own' from the Other. That means, in Florida, that if you look scary to me, I have a right to shoot to kill. (I may be maligning the legislation, but I certainly am not maligning the interpretation of the law in courts.)

We are not a non-violent society. We have the most powerful (ridiculously) military and weapons in the world. And we use them. We use rhetoric that dehumanizes enemies, such that we don't feel so bad (in fact we feel great) when we annihilate a "target."

Of course there is the other side of the coin, we have amazing humanitarian efforts in our military, government, private and public sector. But as a society, we are NOT primarily non-violent. Violence is completely acceptable (applauded!) to more Americans than I would like to admit. I'm learning that as I get older. People threaten to beat someone up over getting cut off in traffic. Someone wants to kill someone else's dog because that dog pooped in their yard. Someone hopes a certain political figure will have a heart attack so we don't have to deal with them. Someone wants to kill the rapist. Someone wants to hurt the person that hurt their friend, family member. We don't want any of this to happen to us, and we certainly assume people will give us the benefit of the doubt if we happen to make a mistake. But we feel justified in carrying out our own brand of justice if it corrects a perceived wrong.

We are violent. And I'm not excluding myself from that. I have been conditioned by my family and religion to be on the lesser end of the violent scale, but I can't deny I have had my thoughts of violence pop up. But even as I seek to find more productive ways to deal with anger and frustration, I witness a culture that sponsors the opposite in the people around me: HOW OUTRAGED ARE YOU ABOUT THIS?! WILL YOU FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHTS?! THIS SCUM WILL SERVE TIME IN JAIL, IS IT ENOUGH?! WAR ON YOUR DEEPLY HELD BELIEFS, WILL YOU SUBMIT OR FIGHT?!

Our entire American existence right now seems to be in all-caps. Everything is a big deal and everything is something to fight about. Our society has been pumped with adrenaline and outrage, not non-violence.

Perhaps this is part of the problem. When violence happens that we don't like, we act like non-violence is a social norm, when it isn't. Sanders said that "real change can only come through non-violent action." While I believe that is true at the deepest of levels, history teaches us differently, doesn't it? Violence changed a hell of a lot. Violence nearly wiped out the Native Americans. Violence was the foundation for a slave-trade that we still can't talk about in America like normal adults. Violence is the knee-jerk reaction for solving world problems, and has been the ongoing heartbeat of all our conflicts across the globe over time. We've improved our weapons, but not so much our negotiation and communication skills. Violence spread certain religions over certain places at certain times (nearly all religions and political regimes bordering on religious zealotry have had their turn in human history). Violence has actually been a MAJOR function of change in history, and especially in American history. Some of it we laud as heroic and sacrificial.

This history of violence has disproportionately negatively affected the poor and minorities. This history of violence has disproportionately negatively affected the poor and minorities. This history of violence has disproportionately negatively affected the poor and minorities. This history of violence has disproportionately negatively affected the poor and minorities. This history of violence has disproportionately negatively affected the poor and minorities.

Because violence by those in power is glorified, while violence by those without power is demonized.

Violence enacted by those in power (be it physical, mental, financial) seems to be sifted through a lens of just-war negotiations or at least an attempt to understand and justify. Violence by the poor and downtrodden are dismissed as savage and stupid.

Our deeply held American values need a gut-check. We are a violent society. Denying that is to be deeply unself-aware. Violence is not only accepted, in the right context it is honored, and we do not do nearly enough to check this. Violence lives and breathes in our legal (and penal) system, our financial institutions, our daily interactions with each other, our glorification of violence in our past (or, equally damaging, our erasure of it) and in many other tiny crevices I haven't noticed yet.

We need to be more self-aware America. We love violence, and the more we pretend we don't, the less we will be able to fight the violence that we have been planting the seeds of since day one.

Wonder Woman

Sunday night I went to see Wonder Woman. 

I keep thinking about all the little and big reasons why I loved it. And I do not feel ashamed that a big blockbuster superhero fight em' movie made me feel this way.

This blog is about the movie, I'm not going to do major spoilers, but I am going to talk about the movie a little - so if you're a purist and cannot know a thing before you see it- come back later.

The beginning of the movie is set where Wonder Woman, Diana, grows up- on an island full of powerful and colorful and badass women. There was something magical about this movie not having a single male actor for the first 20 minutes (I'm not positive on the timing). It wasn't because I don't like men. Love them. Married to one, have two for kids. It was the simplicity and not-fussiness of having a bunch of women kicking ass like it was not a thing. Many movies start with a ton of men kicking ass like it is not a thing. But seeing this scene with nothing but women- and not women in typical female prescribed roles, but women on horses, women training, women walking around. Women being completely content to do what they want to do. It was a fabulous sight. I had no idea I even needed to see it until I saw it. 

The costumes and dialogue gave me powerful women who were independent and had no shame. I don't mean that in the "Have you no SHAME?!" way- but imagine our epic character Eve before she eats the apple- walking around the garden with confidence and contentment. No reason for shame. What a release! I felt the peace of it. No burden of an entire history of submission and limitation. For a wonderful time, I felt the freedom of this!

Then the male characters are introduced and the lead female role is not diminished as a result. Amazing. She is still her. She is still interesting, powerful, independent. In fact- I had to look up the main male character's name to tell you about him because I had forgotten it (it's Steve)!! Steve and Diana have a fun back and forth about social niceties. Steve doesn't want to sleep next to Diana on their boat to the war because it is socially a faux pas. She doesn't get this at all. And it isn't  a weird sexual conversation. It is very frank and shame-free. He tries to see how much she knows about sex- she tells him she's very educated, and that her people had determined that "while men are necessary for procreation, they are not necessary for pleasure." This was said very matter of factly, to which Steve sort of humbly accepts the truth, and then she bids him good night and turns to go to sleep. THAT SCENE WAS EVERYTHING.

Wonder Woman showed the audience a woman who was authentically strong, a leader, and also kind and compassionate. No excuses were made for her strength or kindness. There were definitely moments where her kick-ass-ability was played up by the supporting male cast as a wow factor. But I didn't feel like it was only because she was a woman that they were wowed. They were just wowed. Her strength was accepted as legitimate and they followed her. 

The first scene where Diana really sort of steps up to the plate and does her bad-ass thing on the war front, I felt this emotional connection to the scene. I rarely feel that. I could relate to her. 

I left the movie feeling strong. I walked out the doors with a bad-ass feeling in my steps. Like I could take on the world. I was intoxicated with empowerment. Very rarely do I experience that after movies. I feel entertained or sad or humored or vulnerable, but this movie- I was ready to go join a kick-boxing class. I don't even like to exercise! But maybe now I will. Because I want to be strong like Wonder Woman. I want to fight for love. I want to feel like I can do anything. 

I finally want to be a super hero when I grow up.

Left Behind

Growing up a military brat, you are trained to leave. Trained to adapt, to set down surface roots that are easily transplanted. You blend in, make friends to sit at the lunch table with, but you keep your roots close to home. You don't dig too deep. Your settlement is always with the next launch in the back of your mind. Should you paint that wall? How easy will it be to paint over if you need to? Should you plant that tree? Will it grow enough for you to really enjoy it? These are all inherent in your decisions, and completely logical.

For me, leaving is easy. It isn't but with a lifetime of practice, it is like any other hard thing you've had to do a million times.

Getting left behind? That's another story completely.

The first time I felt like I feel right now was when my best friend, Tasha, moved away. Her Dad was military too, so we should have known better. We knew that the odds were against both of us to stay in the same place for a long time. But in one short year we found ourselves spending all the time we could together. She was one of my first authentic "best friends" - the kind that I allowed my roots to dig in a little deeper. She was a soul sister. Then came the day that we had ignored would come. She was moving.

When she moved I cried. I had lost a piece of what made the place home. She was no longer a part of my everyday life and I had nothing new to distract me from her absence. I remember asking my Dad, bewildered, why her move had been so hard for me when I had moved so many times myself. I had never experienced these emotions, because I had never really been left behind by someone I cared this much about.

He said "it's easier to leave than to be left behind." It is. For me anyway.

The next time I felt like that was actually twice by the same person: when my sister moved to college, and when she moved away from the college that we both attended. Her first move to college was hard on me because for an entire summer- we were each other's only friend. We moved before my senior year of High School and she was home for the summer after traveling for a year with Up With People. She always had a group of friends, so it was a rarity that she chose my companionship. In this situation we both had no other option. We dug in with each other and made our summer enjoyable. When she left, I cried when I saw her red hair in the hairbrush she left behind. I felt ridiculous about it. Three years later, my second year of college, her last- she left for an internship which would be the last thing she did before her graduation. I cried. We had been each other's back up plan for everything for two years. My back-up was leaving me.

I've learned. I don't put my roots down. I don't dig in. Often I'm the first to move.

Now another friend is leaving me before I have the chance to leave her first. She's moving clear across the country, and even though I'm an adult and we have more means of communication, it feels again like those times. I had set roots down. I dug in. When she left this morning, I cried.

I'm not terrible at goodbyes, I'm terrible at being left behind. When you take my roots with you. Am I supposed to regrow them?

I want my kids to experience what it's like to stay in one place and develop long-lasting friendships and relationships, but I am hurting with the pain of being left behind. I feel the urge to move. To leave. To be in charge of where the roots go. To settle lightly somewhere. To keep everyone at a safe arms-length.

My heart actually hurts, and it's like exercising a muscle that I didn't know existed. I'm not used to letting this place hurt. I want to skip over it. I also wish I knew how to be left behind. I wish it was one of the hard things that I've been doing so many times that it didn't hurt so much. I don't really know what to do with this unfamiliar feeling. It's so uncomfortable. It hurts and I hate it.

When my friend left this morning, I cried. But then I stopped myself. I gathered my remaining roots and whispered to them: "stay close."

Graduate to Grace or Die

I'm not feeling optimistic these days. I have not found much light for the darkness. I have a small candle, but it feels vulnerable.

I saw a powerful prayer by a woman who named the current darkness not to be of the tomb but of the womb, to give birth to a new light, a new life, a new age. I cried it was so beautiful.

I want to believe her. But I'm not convinced we are the light that gets to be born. We might be a tightening contraction, running a circle of pain around the womb of creation, to fight for birth, but  ours may not be final stretch, and the condition may not be pregnancy. Throughout history creation has groaned with each new birth of so-called progress. Pain, war, famine, injustice have squeezed progressively harder at an increasingly focused humanity. The rest between has felt like light, has felt like progress, has felt like evolution. But we have not yet been born. We have not arrived. The Kingdom is not actually here, Nirvana is still out of reach, heaven is not a place on earth. It makes me wonder if there will ever be a birth.

I do a lot of work researching for a book that talks about a story that happens during the second world war. This work has opened my eyes to my ignorance about the history of civilization. Even something that we still have eye-witnesses to- we are already forgetting, we haven't learned, we don't know. I thought about this idea of new birth and thought about the world wars. Two great contractions, one right after the other. Pain and darkness that should have potentially moved us into new birth. But we didn't arrive. We just prepared ourselves for the next tightening. The world is tightening all around. My western and euro-centric view doesn't even account for the tightening in Asia, in Africa, in the Middle-east. Tightening. Pain and violence, famine, flood, the end of times sort of thing. Or is it for the beginning of time?

Then I decided to question the frame of this story: Pain produces birth.

What kind of sick sadist requires the pain and darkness to be that dark for new birth? I'm going to tell you childbirth was a challenge, but it wasn't dark night of the soul stuff. Also, we have evolved. Childbirth isn't quite the fatal risk it used to be. Of course there is still risk and fatality is still a very real possibility - but the odds have shifted. The pain has dulled. The process has become more about the birth and less about the pain. Let's also remind ourselves that our legend in Christianity about birth is that the pain was a result of a curse. I won't get into the problems behind women being cursed literally for wanting knowledge (why have I never noticed that before?!)- but I just want to say that in that narrative, the pain is not something that was original to the plan of creation. Right? Can we agree on that? So maybe we shouldn't fall so easily into this pain = new birth mantra. Maybe we should tell a new story. Maybe we should try another approach in this analogy. If this pain of the world produces no life to be born, then the pain and darkness might be a tightening for death. Maybe pain can only ultimately bring death.

All the religions of the world ask us to hope for the new life. All the religions of the world ask us to believe in redemption. I don't think atheists really believe there is no God, they just believe there is no redemption. Without redemption, there is no God worthy of the title. For me redemption is the triumph over pain, death, darkness. So it seems that we're in a cycle. The redemption is not final. Many Christians (and other faiths) see this and talk about the constant working out of their salvation, or reincarnation, rebirth, again and again the light must pierce the darkness.

Maybe this is our big problem: the great myth of pain leading us to new birth. This idea PERMEATES our lives, our society, our psyche. No Pain No Gain. No Work No Food. No Shoes No Service. (I just wanted to slide that in). It's the human condition, that without struggle and pain we are worthless and have no value. All of our lessons about life rest on this foundational wisdom. Without darkness you can't see the stars. Without pain, you have no muscles. Without struggle, you don't have appreciation and gratitude. I literally don't know if it is possible to escape this primary concept. SO therefore, we are stuck in this vicious cycle. We will be in painful childbirth forever and it will result in a temporal birth of new life that will eventually die, it will result in death, or it will be a hamster wheel of pain.

We're so screwed.

I remind myself that I am a Christian. It's hard to remember sometimes. Because being a Christian really means to have a RIDICULOUS hope in redemption. Redemption with finality. The kind that gets us out of the cycle. And sometimes it is difficult to hold on to that hope. But dammit if hope doesn't poke in places. Redemption keeps manifesting itself all over the place. This makes despair a bit hard to keep up. I wish redemption didn't feel like a stupid weak candle and would feel more like a giant floodlight shining a bat signal. However, even a candle light is enough for me to recognize that the light exists. And then there is Jesus. He's hard for me to ignore. He also didn't buy into the whole no pain-no gain bullshit. He did not do boot camp with his disciples. He did not ask people who wanted healing or food to perform some task to deserve it. He just did it. Free and all. Then when he had all the pain and all of the suffering- he died. Just straight up died. It ended his ministry as a human on earth. Christians believe that he came back to life three days later. Guess what he didn't do? (Let's assume you believe that Jesus did come back to life- and I hear how crazy it sounds to people who didn't grow up with this story.) He didn't get revenge. Like- literally zero of his energy went into correcting his wrongful death. Zero. There is no revenge. No retaliation. No zombie curse said. No hexes. No "I hate those people." Actually- AS he was dying- he forgives the people. THIS IS RIDICULOUS. It's also one of the reasons (of which I can find a zillion) why anti-semitism by Christians because Jesus was killed by the Jews- is ridiculous. I can't even begin to count the ways that that whole argument breaks down (Jesus was a Jew, the Romans killed Jesus, etc etc etc). But think about that- Jesus forgives his murderers as they are murdering and mocking him- then when he comes back to life- he spends NO time looking for justice. Why didn't everyone else follow suit? Oh right, because Jesus had evolved out of the pain cycle and we hadn't.

And that's my next leap. I'm going to be weird and say that I think Jesus was not about justice.

I think Jesus was asking us to taking a flying evolutionary leap and move beyond justice. I'm about to throw out a churchy word: grace. Often we hear the word grace in reference to justice. "God loves me despite the fact that I'm a shitty person." = Grace. We think of grace as being given a second chance when we screw up. We think of grace as this idea that someone else is willing to sacrifice themselves or the law for the love of another person. Grace - in this equation- always requires sacrifice. And usually the thing that gets sacrificed is justice (or Jesus- for people who are into the whole sacrificial analogy).

What if what Jesus really meant to do when he died and didn't do shit about it- was to communicate that his Grace was above and beyond justice. That we didn't even need to think about Grace as a sacrifice- but a way of being, of life, of love. That Grace didn't need to be in conversation with justice at ALL.

Let's swim in that idea. What does this look like? Take the parable that Jesus told of the workers. You know- the one where everyone works for different amounts of times and all get paid the same? EVERYONE HATES THAT PARABLE. (Maybe not- but certainly business people hate it). Here's the thing- people can't stand it because it implies that your sacrifice and work isn't worth anything. And we simply CANNOT handle that. CANNOT. That not handling thing is based on this idea that resources are scarce or at the very least limited- so for someone to work and not get their due (whether they get more or less than they deserve)- woah- we can't live like that. We can't live with the insecurity of knowing that we might not be able to earn our slot on the earth. When people start talking about how some people actually work really hard and still don't get ahead, or how a lot of people just get lucky and land in a pot of gold- we don't know what to do with that. We still need things to work according to justice- that's our foundation. But I mean, if I found a gold pot I'm not going to turn it down.

Here's the thing. Maybe the tree of knowledge was actually the tree of Fake News. That tree told Adam and Eve that there are limited resources, that people deserved or didn't deserve things. Then everything became a competition, everything became a scarcity problem. Everything needed sacrifice and blood, sweat, and tears in order to obtain it. (Seriously- will we ever escape this pain narrative?!) And of course we only recognize our own sacrifice, so we feel we deserve all the goods.

But God, Jesus, Buddha, and pretty much all the spiritually evolved beings who have tried to speak truth- have all said this thing: treat others as you want to be treated. Love one another. God may be a little exasperated by a set of people who look at an earth crawling with millions of different species of bugs and myriad varieties of flowers and diverse ecosystems that just dance- and say "it's not enough." What the hell people? I deserve this iced mocha because I paid for it. Lord Jesus and everything holy wants me to get over myself and my justice. Graduate to Grace.

That's nirvana, heaven, etc etc. And I am trying REALLY hard to believe it is possible. But I'm struggling. This pain is not new birth, it's a cycle that we seem to be doomed to repeat until we evolve. And I'm not sure humanity is willing or able to evolve. Perhaps we're not the pinnacle of creation. Maybe the beetles will be the ones to rule the world.