Midnight Mass, thin places, and home

There are two services in the liturgical calendar that I look forward to the most: Easter Vigil and Midnight Christmas Mass. Each service celebrates the coming of light amidst darkness. Each service is a beautiful renewal: the resurrection and the birth. Each service features candlelight and incense. Each service becomes a thin place. Thin places, to me (admittedly stolen from a theologian) are moments and places where the divide between earthly and heavenly, between mortal and divine, are almost non-existent. There are a few places where I've felt the presence of the divine, and for those I am thankful.

Seeing the water and sitting on the rocks by the pier is my favorite thin place. Even in elementary school I would sit and just listen to the water hit the rocks. There was something so beautiful about those rocks that it deserved silence. It deserved reverence. I went back to those rocks this break. There is so much noise in life. These days the noise is deadlines and papers and the ups and downs of working with colleagues. These days the noise is so thick that I can't see the thin places. But then I come home. I see the sun shining on the water and the sand on the beach. I see the sunset over the bay, I drive over the marsh, and I'm greeted by my dogs. All of this reminds me where I'd like to see myself. At peace. Maybe not here on the coast, but somewhere where I can see enough beauty to remind me that I'm a part of a wild and beautiful world. 

I had a thin place in Sewanee. St. Mary's Convent had an amazing view of the plateau and at sunset, the colors would be so vivid, so warm, so perfect that I could almost see the brushstrokes of God. Whenever I felt overwhelmed I would go there. Knowing that generations of nuns and pilgrims and people seeking solace had viewed the sunset on that bluff was comforting. While I was at homecoming I regretfully did not make it to this thin place. But to be honest, all of Sewanee is a thin place for me. 

Christmas deserves to be a thin place. Amidst the hustle of last minute gift buying and grocery shopping, there are moments where things slow down. A fire in the fireplace, a family meal, decorating the Christmas tree… all of these moments remind me that one of the best gifts Christmas brings us is family. 

I hope you and yours have a holiday season of renewal and rebirth, of solace and laughter, and most of all, moments of peace. 

Easter, Resurrection, and Tuscaloosa

Last night I attended the Easter Vigil at Christ Episcopal, Tuscaloosa. The vigil is my favorite service in the liturgical year in the Episcopal Church. The service begins in candlelight as old testament readings bring us through God's saving help in the world, leading to the empty tomb and a ceremonial turning on of all the lights in the church. The smell of incense lingers in the air and finally we are able to say Alleluia! after a lent of penitence.

What strikes me the most about the vigil is the transition. To know and fully appreciate the light of the empty tomb, the service begins in darkness. I too know about the transition. Last year's Easter Vigil I was living at home and my prayers were to keep me strong to survive the last of the year of teaching 7th grade. Last year my prayers were for some sort of light, any sign of light, because the past two years prior were filled with dark and sadness. I was unsure of what my next step was going to be, I only knew it was not going to be teaching at Gulfport Central Middle School.

I was unsure about the long run. I have felt called to the ministry for so long, but it has always been a call in the distant future. "I'll fulfill my call after this..." became the mantra. I couldn't see the immediate, and the way things lined up for The University of Alabama to be my next home were too easy to look over. Do I still think about the ministry? Yes. The difference is, I've put those thoughts on the back burner for the first time since the call originated and have focused on the NOW. Sounds new-agey but that focus was/is what I need.

It might sound strange, especially given the amount of work and stress that I've had this year, but Tuscaloosa has been my resurrection. Yes, I struggle to keep up with reading and writing, but I no longer dread waking up every day and I no longer pray just for survival. Yes, there are still questions and concerns about what I am doing, but I feel I am making a difference whenever a student of mine finally 'gets it.' I feel joy when I finally break through on a paper. I'm happy in the space where I live and the people who have been brought into my life.

I can fully appreciate this opportunity and change because of the darkness I have faced. Is it perfect? Hell no. What is perfect? There are bumps and bruises and frustrations and hurdles. The difference is, I have the strength (notice I didn't say patience- working on that) to deal with it.

So this year at the Vigil, I prayed a thanksgiving, not a desperate plea.

The tomb is empty, come and see.

"Wait!"

 I was talking to a friend of mine tonight and the issue of LGBT rights came up in regards to the Episcopal Church and the approval of Same-Sex Blessings. There are dioceses such as Mississippi (where I grew up) and Alabama (where I live now) that will not allow for the liturgy approved by the national church to happen. This creates second-class Episcopalians. I am an Episcopalian who can participate in all but two sacraments in the Diocese of Mississippi: marriage and ordainment into holy orders. If I were heterosexual, these sacraments would be open to me to participate in.

This post is not going to be one where I talk about the injustice of the oppression of these rights. Yes, they are unjust. This post is to ask the question of those LGBT allies and progressives who say things will come in time, that we just have to wait for the waters to warm up to this inclusion.

The question I have to those who say 'wait' is: what makes 'wait' different than 'no'?

My academic career has been centered around race and civil rights. Studying that progression and movement definitely has some lessons for the fight for LGBT rights in this country and around the world. What came to mind specifically tonight is an excerpt from Martin Luther King Jr.'s Letter from the Birmingham City Jail....

 We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed. Frankly, I have yet to engage in a direct action campaign that was "well timed" in the view of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation. For years now I have heard the word "Wait!" It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This "Wait" has almost always meant "Never." We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that "justice too long delayed is justice denied."


At the time of the Civil Rights Movement, the payoff of 'waiting' was that you could politically keep votes. States and citizens can support a politician who is either deliberately not taking a stance or saying the time isn't right. Stop waiting? You would lose votes. So what many politicians did was to tell King and other leaders "slow down," "wait," "these things take time." As long as they said that, they didn't have to act and thus lose votes.


This issue in the church isn't that much different. Bishops and dioceses and priests are saying "wait" and "these things take time" and "it's complicated." Are votes at stake here? No. What's at stake for dioceses and churches is very clear: people and money. Take a stance? Lose congregations and their donations. Stay on the fence and insist that you're "working things out"? People and their checks will stick around.


Now don't get me confused. When I say the dioceses and churches will lose money, I'm not talking about it the same as when Wal-Mart or Patagonia loses money. When a church or a diocese loses money and congregants, they lose the abilities to support outreach and offer support to their own churches. This, I will admit, is a good thing to fight for.


This, however, does not change the message sent to the LGBT community. "Wait" = "No."

The Civil Rights Movement, had it 'waited' would STILL not see progress today. EVEN with the measures and laws to protect African-Americans, there isn't full support. Bigotry still exists out there, racism still exists.

I've heard it said that in order to address the rights of the LGBT community, we first have to be all on board about racial rights. That "wait" is a resounding and loud "never." If we wait for everyone to 'be ok' with social change and justice, then we will wait until the world ends.


So forgive me if you tell me that you're boycotting Chick-fil-a and then in the next sentence tell me it's just not the right time for LGBT rights and I take it as an insult.

We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that "justice too long delayed is justice denied."

A fresh new start

Anyone who has been following me for the past two years through facebook or here on my blog knows that the years 2010- beginning 2012 were not my favorite years of life.. by a long shot. Going from the disappointment of coming back from California, almost a year of unemployment and then being faced with the most challenging/horrendous job I've ever had (I don't see how ANYone can voluntarily decide to be around 7th graders)... it's been a rough ride. That's not to say that nothing good happened during that time. I was able to regroup with the people who love me giving me support, I had a great time leading the Gulf Coast EYC, I loved my home parish of St. Peter's By the Sea.... there definitely were bright spots. I did for a long time feel that I had no direction, though... that I was just merely passing time before something big came along. That something DID come along.

So here I am, in Tuscaloosa, in my very own apartment, waiting on the rest of my 36 books for two classes to come in so I can begin a doctorate program in history at The University of Alabama. I'm excited and for a good bit since I accepted the offer, I had no worries or nervousness. That's changed. The gravity of what I'm starting has hit. Whatever I write, whatever I manage to get published, in these five or six years (the longest I'll have lived in one place since my sophomore year in high school), will directly determine where I'll find a job. That's not to say I'm going to be "no-fun-pants Montgomery.." but I'm not going to repeat the approach of Sewanee.

BUT, the whole point of this blog post, besides airing my nervousness, is to simply put into words the awe that I have for this next phase of life. I'm going back to school and when I emerge, I will be Dr. Blount Montgomery and that still amazes me. I have the opportunity to really take the changes I need in my life to live better.... I can take my health more seriously, I will HAVE to take my finances more seriously. I can strive to be a better person and make great friends and put my name out there in a positive manner. I can move beyond the reruns of feeling inadequate (this feeling brought to you by teaching 7th graders for a year) and really step up my game. I've been given a fresh start and I will take full advantage of it.

I'd also like to take this time to thank y'all. If you're reading this, it's likely that you've encouraged me, let me vent to you, took me out for drinks, let me cry or just remind me that you're there for me for the past few years and I thank every single one of you. Some of you reading this might be people I met on the West Coast. Despite the circumstances of my leaving, I value my time there and all I learned in those months.


It's not too often that we're faced with an opportunity to start over in a dramatic way, but when we are faced with that opportunity, it should not be a time to shrug through, or coast on auto-pilot. It is time to step up, to speak out, and to make sure it all counts to someone, if only yourself....

'Oreos', 'Dear White People', Stereotypes, and much, much more

A friend posted this article about a film trying to get funding based on the concept of Black identity by tweets under the title 'Dear White People.' Again and again the author makes the designation that the film is under 'satire.' Because I don't want to comment on whether or not this 'satire' is truly up to snuff, I checked the world's most reliable source (Wikipedia) to refresh my definition of satire:

In satire, vices, follies, abuses, and shortcomings are held up to ridicule, ideally with the intent of shaming individuals, and society itself, into improvement.^[1] Although satire is usually meant to be funny, its greater purpose is often constructive social criticism, using wit as a weapon.

The trailer, found here, sums up the overall arch of the argument: Black culture in America is stereotyped and white people are the culprits and they deserve to be the victim of satire (see definition mentioning the intent to shame individuals) to prove a point.

Ok.

The article overall has some good key points, namely that mass culture responds to people based on 'personalities in a box' given to people because of race. I can only assume the author excluded gender, sexual orientation, religion, and citizen status because that would take much much longer to address. The problem of singular-minded representation in the media is not just a Black problem, it's gay, hispanic, those with mental illnesses, women, and other minorities as well. I hope the author does not assume that these other minorities and designations do not face as much abuse as the Black community does.

This quote from the article, in my opinion, does not mesh with the trailer:

The truth is, my film really isn't about "white racism" or racism at all. As I see it racism is systemic and is inherently reflected in any honest story about life as a minority in this country. What my film is about however is identity. It's about the difference between how the mass culture responds to a person because of their race and who they understand themselves to truly be.


The trailer, I'm going to admit, was hard to watch. Being lumped in the group targeted for this 'satire' was offensive to me. What I fear this film (and others like it) does to our society is polarize it further along the issues of race. As a white person, I view this trailer and see how it promotes white people as stupid, racist, inconsiderate, and forever wishing to stifle and put down the advancements and developments of Black culture. I am immediately offended and, if I weren't as sensitive and educated about the issues of race and consider myself NOT a racist, I could have a knee-jerk reaction that this is just reverse-racism. One only has to look at the comments on the YouTube page to see the reverse-racism comments (and oh, they abound). I am afraid that the majority of the white community might have that knee-jerk reaction. I can only assume (and forgive me for assuming), that someone in the Black community might watch this and say, "yeah, I hate it when white people do that." Fair enough. The truth is, in this satire (at least from what I could tell in the trailer), white people are made into a singular mindset. Is this not the very thing that the film wants to speak out against?

 The film's trailer has one quote that I feel responds with the above quote. It's in minute 2:00 when a character says that there isn't just one way to being black. This quote, however, comes a minute after (see 0:57) when a younger Black student is essentially told he knows nothing about Black culture. One can only assume that this means the student is regarded as acting 'white.' I've seen this kind of comment in the classroom this past year. When a student has correct grammar and does not seek to disrupt the classroom and asks questions, (and this has happened right before my eyes) he or she is called out for 'acting white.' More specifically the student is called an 'oreo' (black on the outside, white on the inside). One day in class I took nearly half of the time to address this, standing on my soapbox and asserting that one does not 'act' a race, one acts like themselves and the traits given by societal stereotypes only limit an individual. Furthermore, by assuming that good grammar, participation in class and good behavior is 'white,' sells short the abilities and expectations for success for Black students and other racial minorities.

I can only hope that the moment in 0:57 was intended to draw light to the 'oreo' commentary to make it false. I fear it is not.

To look into matters further, I subscribed to the @DearWhitePeople twitter account. Did I find comments that said things white people did to stereotype Black people? No. I found tweets that essentially made fun of white people via stereotypes lumping all white people together. And it seemed the comments should have been further specified as Dear Economically Privileged White People.

All this being said, if the intentions of the trailer (and later on, movie) were to make people think critically, this might be obtained in a small minority of viewers. If the intentions were to paint white society as unilateral simple, racist, insensitive, and oppressive people, it has succeeded. Whether or not this specific commentary will produce the results of promoting Black culture is to be determined, but it does a really good job of turning the tables to lump all white culture into one group to be hated.

Is that the price of promoting a wide range of culture? Putting down another?

Hopefully, when this film is made, I will be proven wrong.

Poetry

In my procrastination of cleaning/packing up my room in Pass Christian, I have, of course, been reading. I'm waist-deep in a biography of William Alexander Percy that my Dad gave me a couple of weeks ago. It's the kind of writing and the kind of book that I am committing my life too- an academic contextual biography. It's both about the ways Percy had to navigate the Southern world and the entire world as a lover of beauty, poetry, and other men when the South had no room for men to love any of those things. It's wonderful. I plan on re-reading Lanterns on the Levee as soon as possible now that I know some of the context for Percy's autobiography. I had no idea, however, about his sexuality and his relationships until this biography. Another thing I did not realize was that Percy was a pretty renowned poet. A lot of his poetry is quoted in the book and it is beautiful.

But that's not entirely the inspiration for this post.

Reading about Percy's poetry has roused my memory of how I used to write poetry. As far back as the 5th grade I can recall keeping a little notebook where I would write. I kept writing quite a bit on up until my senior year of high school. I was the editor of the literary magazine for my high school and the poetry there is pretty much all that survives of my creative writing thanks to Katrina wiping out documentation of my childhood. I suppose some red snapper has snacked on my journals out there in the gulf. Once I got to college, the only poetry I would write would be for my girlfriend and even at that point I had started slacking off. By the time that relationship and my degree were over, I hadn't written anything creative (besides that poetry class I took Senior year and I apologize profusely to the fellow classmates and the professor- I didn't take it seriously and wrote some pretty awful things).

I want to write again though. Poetry is something to me that is both beautiful and frustrating. With poetry I can read the same poem 100 times and feel 100 different things. Each and every word is so calculated and inspires. Reading silently can induce one feeling, but then you read it out loud to yourself (I find myself doing this and feeling silly about it, but it's very soothing) and it seems to be an entirely different poem. I've always heard that if you want to be a writer, you must first and always be a reader. Well, I read plenty, but I can count on one hand the books of poetry I own. I think I don't own more because reading a book of poetry has no closure. You might finish the poems in the book, but that doesn't mean you have absorbed even the slightest of what that book was set out to accomplish. There will never be closure with poetry. I admire that.

I think I might try writing poetry again. It's bound to be awful and it will be hard to get back into that way of thinking and feeling on a page, but I think it'll be good. Especially with grad school coming up, life can't always be about researching history and writing for conferences and classes. There has to be a creative outlet somewhere.

I promise you this though. I will not subject you to my poetry unless I have absolutely been convinced that it is good. Or at least decent. Or that it won't induce vomiting (some of the poems I vaguely remember reading would definitely do so).

Mississippi and the lateral moves for civil rights

In case some of you don't know, I am an Episcopalian in the Mississippi Diocese. There are things that are wonderful and beautiful about this diocese. For one, it is a tight knit community. No matter where I am in the state, there is a likelihood that I know someone there who is Episcopalian and would be more than willing to help me out. We look out for one another. 


There are some things, however, that concern me. Mississippi as a whole has a reputation for being reluctant and resistant to change. While Episcopalians in this state consider themselves to be exceptions to that rule, we still succumb to that stereotype. We still confuse holding onto tradition with living out the mission to step outside of our comfort zones to fulfill the mission of Christ.

The biggest example as of late is the response made by the head of the Mississippi diocese. I am reluctant to mention this, because I consider him a friend of mine. That does not, however, excuse him.

This year at the General Convention of the Episcopal Church, there will be a revolutionary bill voted on. This bill would approve of and support Same-Sex Couple Blessings of Unions. While I take issue with blessings of unions (See post New York: Civil Unions V. Marriage) I applaud and look forward to how this will all play out. 

At the annual gathering of Mississippi Episcopalians, the bishop had an opening address that mentioned this vote. This is an excerpt from that address:

 "Having said all that, it probably will surprise some of you, when I say, I have not been willing to authorize liturgical rites of blessing as part of that support. I recognize to many that this refusal appears to give lie to my professed pastoral care and concern. That perception is a burden I have chosen to bear since I became your bishop. In lighter moments, I prefer to think of myself as a walking paradox."

Full address here: Bishop's Address 

The concerning thing is that I've always thought (and maybe I am wrong and maybe I made this up) that the thing that the Bishop was waiting on to act towards full religious rights for Lesbians and Gays was official approval from the national church. So, here, with the possibility for approval, is a statement saying that not only will he not vote for it, but will not act on it if passed. The approval will be there, no doubt. 

I imagine there were diocese taking similar stances when it came to women's ordination and the ordination of African-Americans. We're not even talking ordination here. We're talking about recognizing, blessing, and celebrating loving, committed relationships. We will be found to be on the wrong side of history, again. 

This grieves me and I continue to pray for the hearts to turn towards the movement of the Holy Spirit. 

Please do not interpret this post to undermine and lash out at our diocese or the Bishop. I respect and love this diocese and our Bishop. I think that makes this hurt even more. 

I hope and pray for the best. I guess it just might take longer than I expected.

 
 

Life in a montage

Just recently a friend of mine and I were talking about how life should be documented in montages. This revelation came up because we discussed how we rarely remember the good things in a year because the challenges and the hardships and the suckiness usually takes most of the room.

Think about it. Wouldn't it be nice to have a video montage (complete with appropriate soundtrack of course) of all the times you were happy and had fun and enjoyed yourself for each year? I guess it would be the tech-y version of a scrapbook.

But then, I kept thinking and started looking seriously at this (as I am prone to do). What kind of disservice would it be if all the challenges and bad times were glossed over for a feel-good video mixtape. I mean, sure, I'd like to forget a couple of years. I'd like to forget them for the heartbreak and frustration and stress that have accompanied them. But what kind of person would I be without them? I know it's cliche but I wouldn't be who I am today had not those sucky things happened.

I suppose this whole fascination is one of the things that draws me to historical research. Writing and studying history is always colored with this kind of debate. Much of historical writing (current scholars included) focuses on a highlight reel of events to present a solidly argued picture. Wouldn't a complete picture with the tiny nuances, even the nuances that would undermine the original argument be more fair to the reader? But also, wouldn't the tiny nuances overload the mind and understanding?

We live in a society run by storytelling and when it comes down to it, history, much like the way we view our own lives, ends up being told in narrative form. A year in someone's life is not a streamline story. It's got subplots upon subplots and plots that stop mid-run and never complete. It has characters that vary from significant to people who are never to be remembered. And yet, when you see someone at a wedding or at a homecoming and they ask you how you've been, you have a narrative to tell them, your own personal highlight reel.

What's your story?

I am not Michele Pfeiffer (spelling?)

This week has been excruciating at school. My students' average on my test hovered around a 50, I discovered "fat bitch, fat bitch Montgomery" scribbled on TWO of my textbooks in class, and I feel like I've tried EVERYTHING in the book to get my students to give two shits about their education or at least to sit down and listen.

I was out at dinner with a fellow teacher trying not to talk about school (and largely succeeded in doing so), but eventually got into how I have never been bad at something until now. I am used to doing well, if not rocking out everything I get myself into. School, jobs, sports, being a good person. I've never not given a shit and I've never given up. This year has been the first time in my life that I've genuinely wanted to give up and I would have quit long ago had it not been for my Mom threatening me (well not so much threatening as telling me I'm not going to quit and I know better than to cross Becky Montgomery... I love you Mom).

So why? Why am I so bad at this job?

We got to talking and the point came up that I've never not given a shit. These students don't give a shit about their education. They don't value it. They've got other priorities. I know there are students of mine who do give a shit and that is awesome and I'm glad I've got them. The majority though, don't care enough to even turn in assignments and aren't afraid of zeros in the gradebook. These students also come from difficult situations and some, if not most, do not have parents who continuously check in on progress in school.

In the conversation she mentioned that I might do fantastically well in teaching at a middle class, mostly white school. And while I feel that is partly a compliment (saying that I could do well), I don't know if the fact that it would have to be a middle class, 'white' school is comforting.

So, as much as it hurts me to say, I cannot relate to my students at all. I've never given up. I've always been ambitious. I've always been resilient about my education, even when facing the difficulty of the situation around my medical leave from Sewanee. I went back and graduated cum laude (and was so close to Magna cum laude that it still pisses me off). I have a masters. I'm going back to get a phd.

Also, I've never been in a school situation with the socioeconomic class that I teach. I went to school in Pass Christian, largely a middle class school. I was in advanced classes with students who cared. I remember only one class in which I was in the general population in class and I distinctly recall being pissed off at the students who caused disruptions in class. After Pass Christian, I went to Mississippi School for Math and Science, surrounded by over-achievers. Then Sewanee, a small private liberal arts school. Then Ole Miss. I have not been in a situation where I'm not surrounded by middle class (or above) students. Until now.

The thing that really bothers me is that I've spent the majority of my academic career studying the African-American Civil Rights Movement. My research, my reading, my understanding is about how oppressed people stood up and pulled themselves together to demand rights. I do not see hardly any of this character in my students. Partly I think it's because it's not there, but even if it is there, I do not think my life experience is that in which I could recognize it.

I. Suck. At. Teaching. This. Population.

Also, I want to be friends with them. I like a lot of my students. Some of them are hilarious and a lot of them are good kids. My relationship with kids through Camp and my youth group has been one of listening to what is going on in their lives and giving counsel and playing around with them. A teacher doesn't play around with students. A teacher controls the environment and gets them to learn. Sure, there are some times when I can bond with a student, but that's rare. 

I know there might be a couple of kids that I'm reaching and I may never know or find out that I've reached them. I can't help but think now that I'm not improving their education. I can't get the class to calm down enough to get through to improving their education.

What's worse is that I don't feel like my students are going to like history after being in my class. That gets me upset worst of all. I love history. I love the way it makes me think. I fear that I'm creating hatred for history. Although, if I remember correctly, I never liked history until my Junior year in high school when I had US history at MSMS.

I am trying something different in the classroom, however. Most of the time this year, when the students got really out of control, I would have gut reactions to them and get really angry at them. Now, when I get to that point, I take a deep breath and say to myself "they're kids and they need help" and that changed my viewpoint about the situation and my response.

I've just got to make it to the end of the year. I'm no Michele Pfeiffer and I'm not the teacher in the freedom writers and I'm not Antonio Banderas in that movie where he changes lives in the kids by getting them to dance. I am Margaret Blount Montgomery and I have only succeeded this year in proving to myself that I can handle extreme stress and not explode.

I'm not going to grovel for crumbs.

I’ve been reading the gospels with the bishop of Mississippi and now twice I have seen the story of the Canaanite woman coming to Jesus asking for her daughter to be healed. It has bothered me both times. He answers her pleas for help with the statement, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She responds with something along the lines of “but even dogs eat the crumbs of the table.” After that statement, Jesus heals the woman’s daughter.

            I did some searching on google and there are some that say this was a way to prove that not everything asked for is granted immediately. That theory doesn’t suffice in my book. Jesus was extremely mean and the way this story unfolds is unfair. This woman has to prove to Jesus that she’s worthy. If you look at it, that can translate into we have to prove we are worthy of salvation and healing. This goes against everything we are taught about grace. Grace is not earned, it is there for those who accept it. Basically this woman, after being belittled and called a dog, shrugs it off and replies with a kind of desperation. I don’t know about you, but if God or Jesus belittled me, I don’t think I would take that in stride. I’d walk away and not look back.

            Something else I couldn’t shake was how closely this can compare to the way that most of the wider Christian world views homosexuality. I’m assuming that because the woman in the gospel was a Canaanite it colored things differently and presented a general negative stereotype. Homosexuality has a similar negative stereotype, one that often results in hatred and discrimination. Some feel that being a homosexual should deny that person salvation, that it is an unforgivable sin. The “God hates fags” group and many others see gay people as if their sexuality were the only thing about them.

            In this whole discourse about gay rights politically and gay rights in the church (to marry, to be ordained), time and again the gay community is told that we should be examples of great Christians and citizens to prove to others that we are indeed people deserving of equal rights.

            How is that not different than Jesus only healing after the woman proves her faith. She’s called a dog and she has to then convince Jesus that she’s not and that she’s faithful. Gay people are called dogs (much worse, in most cases) and treated as though they are not deserving of rights, let alone salvation and the love of God and fellow Christians. So, in that vein, I have to prove myself to be a good person to debunk the stereotype of Godless homosexuals.

            I shouldn’t have to prove myself to be a good Christian before I am granted the ability to get married in the church or to be ordained in the church. I should have those rights even if I am a horrible person. These rights, like grace, shouldn’t be earned, they should just be there. Unconditionally.

            I’m getting tired of responding that, “even dogs eat the crumbs of the table.” That table is God’s table and I’m a child of God. I’m not going to grovel at the feet of those who want to deny me the food of salvation because I don’t have to grovel for God’s grace. Homosexuals and those in the queer community shouldn’t have to grovel and prove themselves, but in this world at this moment, that’s exactly what we’re being told is the best thing to do.

Wise up world. God grants all people grace, unconditionally. It’s about damn time you do the same.

Long time, no write

Taking a step back   

            It’s officially lent and it’s taken me a while to figure out my routine. I like to take something on as well as give something up. One of the best reflections I have heard about lent is that lent is not meant for you to give up chocolate. There is a tricky part to Lenten disciplines. It’s important to have a practiced discipline and to exercise self-control, but you have to be careful to do it for the right reasons. For example, I could give up something like chocolate (popular discipline), but if I am doing that just to lose weight or because I think it might be easy, I would be doing it for the wrong reasons. However, if I give up chocolate to reflect and educate myself on the way corporations abuse workers and the environment in order to make it, it takes on a new meaning.

            This lent, the bishop of Mississippi has thrown down a challenge to read the four gospels over the 40 days. Having been a person who has valued faith over scripture, I have decided to take this challenge on. Granted, in order to achieve this I will be required to read quite a bit each night, but I think it will be important for me to do this so that I can further my relationship with God.

            I do think that the harder task I have given myself is to be optimistic about every day. My job teaching 7^th graders has been the most stressful experience I have ever faced. I’m not used to being bad at something, but I find myself struggling to just get by and hope that my students are learning something at all. I have taken on a pessimistic view of the difference I feel that I am making. I have gained through this a profound respect and appreciation for all of my teachers throughout grade school. It’s not easy.

            Lent is about stepping back and examining your life. Taking stock of what is important as well as what is lacking in your life is an important discipline. Understanding and recognizing parts of your life that inhibit the openness to Jesus and a relationship with God is a big part of stepping back. When I step back from my own life, I see that I am rushing through this part of my life, hoping for more fulfillments in the future. A friend of mine and I play the game of “future me.” Future Blount Montgomery never procrastinates, is fit enough to run a marathon (but chooses not to because Saturdays are writing days), and has written a couple of books that have done very well. While this is all fun and sometimes the game becomes completely in jest (future me is the owner of the New Orleans Saints, for example), there is something telling about this game. Too often we put off improving ourselves and becoming who we are meant to be until our future selves arrive.

            For lent, I am going to put off thinking about my future self. For lent I am going to focus on the present me. For lent I am going to put all my being into being ready for Easter.

New York, New York!

Tonight the state senate of New York passed a bill for gay marriage. Not civil unions. Marriage.

Some say, "why such a big deal if it's a civil union or a marriage?"

In my opinion, calling the commitment of two members of the same sex 'civil unions' gives the connotations of a second-class distinctions. Straight couples get to call their union 'marriage' and the same privilege should be extended to gay couples.

When I find someone that I love and care for and want to make a commitment to for the rest of my life, I don't want a certificate saying that I have a civil union. I don't want a church service that is simply "same sex blessing." I want to get married. Does that mean I want all the fuss and frill and lace and production? Maybe, maybe not. But I want a church and a state that will acknowledge my commitment as a marriage and a service that has the appropriate wording.

The tides are slowly turning in the right direction.

Teaching

Obama in his state of the union a while back made a bold statement that if we really wanted to do a great service to our country, we should teach. I agreed with that completely. The teachers and professors in my life have expanded the way I see the world and have challenged me to think for myself and have given me the confidence to see how I might influence and interpret the world around me. I cannot thank them enough for that.

However, Obama wasn't talking about just teachers in general, he was singling out teaching and learning in the fields of math and science. Which, by the way, has been a goal mentioned with almost every president we've had since WWII. I'm not arguing that we don't need math and science teachers. They are very important and the students of the United States need to be able to compete on an international scale.

I'd like to point out that our students in this country also have severe problems reading, writing and understanding their country's history. This is intolerable. Yes, math and science are important, but if a student doesn't have the skills to write or comprehend writing, then math and science are almost null and void. You can't walk around life without the capacity to read and write. You just can't. You don't have to be a novelist or anything, but you need the critical thinking skills that accompany reading and writing to think for yourself and to express yourself in the written form. Even scientists and mathematicians need the skill to write in order to share their work.

And then there's history. When the children here as well as many adults know nothing about the men and women who have created this country and the events that turned the tide, there is a great disservice to this country. The revolution? "We fought the british." Civil War? "The North and the South fought over slavery" World War I? "Don't know... Hitler?" The Great Depression? "We were broke" World War II? "Hitler and the Japs"

The sad thing is that there are even Americans out there that don't understand even the basic ideas that these event occurred or the reasons behind them. History isn't just about knowing one's country, it's about a sense of pride. It's about, once again, being able to critically think about things that have not only happened in the past, but that are happening now and will happen in the future.

So, yes Obama, let's get science and math up to par with the rest of the world, but don't forget English, History and liberal arts in general, because while scientists and mathematicians better the world with innovations, Historians, writers, and everyone benefits from a good liberal arts education. They are made better because of it and thus our country is made better.

Episcopal Service Corps

Around this time last year I was not necessarily freaking out, but nonetheless concerned about what exactly I was going to do after completing my Master's in Southern Studies. At the time I did not particularly care for applying for my PhD and I didn't just want to do an office job and definitely did not consider working for a museum or as a public school teacher.

I knew, however, that I wanted to try and at least see if ministry in the Episcopal Church was something I could handle. I had heard about the Episcopal Service Corps and checked it out. I was also searching for youth ministry jobs within the Episcopal Church. I applied to some jobs and for whatever reasons, be it lack of experience or lack of schooling in ministry, I was denied the jobs. So I took a closer look at the Episcopal Service Corps, did some blanketed applications and tried my luck.

My luck landed me two offers. One in San Francisco and the other in Newark, New Jersey. I took some time to think on it and chose San Francisco. The Episcopal Service Corps, to me, is an opportunity to further explore the ways that lay and ordained or intentional ministry for twenty somethings who want more out of their lives than just a desk job. It is a way to see firsthand through working with non profits or local churches just what exactly ministry can look like.

What made the Episcopal Service Corps even better for me was the structure of it. The time taken to worship together and eat together, building a community of support and care was a big draw for me. As a 25 year old at the time, I found myself not entirely committed to a church, but longing to be a part of a community and the Episcopal Service Corps gave me that.

For those who are interested in a life of simplicity and service and ministry and worship, the Episcopal Service Corps is ideal. Through circumstances out of my control, I did not complete my year with the program and I miss that community, but that does not stop me from promoting that kind of dedication and intentional time.

There's something to be said in this consumer driven culture, for those who choose to buck against it. The young adults searching for something more to do with their lives, meaningful, not always financially profitable, but sustaining work for the soul. The closely linked monastic life coupled with work and continued participation in the world around us is something that few people get to experience.

I am better for the time I spent in San Francisco. I learned a lot from that experience and believe that the mission that is promoted through the Episcopal Service Corps is a good one, a necessary one, in this time of questioning and doubt.

In defense of History

In President Obama's State of the Union, he said that we needed to emphasize education. I agree with that. Where Obama and I disagree is his focus on science and math. Don't get me wrong, science and math are integral to education, but when a lot of students in this country have serious problems writing and reading and also don't know anything about this country's history, something is going seriously wrong. When a lot of adults don't even know this country's history, there is something even more wrong.

Say what you want about math and science leading to innovation, but what can an innovator create and promote if they lack the skills to read and write and present? What accountant can effectively do his job if he can't communicate with clients? What would this country be if the leading historians on American History weren't American? What happened to the sense of pride in American literature?

I know a lot of people claim that history is boring, that it's not interesting memorizing dates. History doesn't have to be about that. Learning and studying history is more than just knowing what happened. Being trained and exposed to learning history is a way of thinking that is lacking in today's society. It involves reading books and critically evaluating them in a way that you can develop your own opinions. It's about being informed. It's about taking an issue and researching the story behind it. If you look at it, history is a collection of stories that have been passed down and deserve to keep living.

History is also about a sense of pride. Knowing the way this country was founded, knowing the milestones and celebrating the way we have come to be the society we are, is integral to the way we feel about being citizens. Even if you think critically about events in the past and don't agree with what happened, studying history gives you the tools to piece together your own thoughts about why things happen.

So yeah, let's get a better education initiative. But let's be fair to liberal arts as well as math and science. Why can't the two get along?

Power-Through

A phrase that I keep finding myself saying these days is "power-through." It's been a philosophy of mine that whenever I face an obstacle, if I just persist and fight my way through it, it'll work out for the best. Lately, though, powering through as a way of life isn't quite working how it usually does.

It makes me second guess that philosophy. And, as a trained historian, I wonder if that philosophy is just what our culture has trained us to do. Pulling ourselves up by our own bootstraps and finding a way to make things work beyond all obstacles seems to be the way we earn respect in American society. Unemployed? You're not looking hard enough for a job. Depressed? Buck up and be happy with your situation because there are always people who have it off worse. Problems with your significant other? Just hang in there and make it work, like all the romantic comedies tell us to and it'll be ok.

The problem with powering through is that it leaves others and sometimes ourselves, in a painful wake. How many people, who are unsatisfied with their situations, just stick it out because they can't think of anything that could possibly be better for them? How many people keep saying to themselves, "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade." Why don't you try returning the lemons and finding something that you really like? Is it fear that holds us back from returning and searching for what makes us happy? I don't know.

When I first got back to Mississippi from California, I thought that I had been a failure. I found myself back in the South, a place where I cannot pursue what I feel like I could have pursued in California. I kept seeing California as a place where all my dreams could come true. Now, that might seem silly, but that's the honest truth. At first being back in the Bible Belt, where homophobic statements are made more often than not and disparaging comments about our President because of his race happen rarely, but are intense, made me feel like I had taken a step backward. My first inclination was to do whatever I could to get back out of the South. I deserved better, I kept telling myself. All I had to do was power-through and I would get what I wanted.

However, powering through to get out of the South again would mean leaving the people I care about. It would mean not seeing the good that Mississippi can offer. As many statements I have heard in the South that have upset me, there are equally disturbing statements made all around this country and all around the world. Plus, I have friends here in the South who know and love me for who I am. I have people who understand that the New Orleans Saints are the best team in the country, no matter what their record that year might be. I say "Mardi Gras" and people know the religious significance of it, and don't only associate it with Bourbon Street in the Crescent City. And on that note, I know people who know why New Orleans is called the Crescent City. Yes, there are things I would love for the South to change. But that's true of everywhere.

I see these things because my thinking is different now. I can't tell you the switch that made everything clearer to me than it had been before. What I can tell you, is that powering through leaves a wake because you're moving too fast. Pushing through when you should be slowly making steps can cause scars on relationships and your own well being. Sometimes it's the slow transitions that are necessary. Sometimes, no matter how much we would like to pick up and move out, move away as fast as we can, the challenge and call is to stay put. The call is to be there for your friends and to allow them to be there for you. Life is a marathon, not a sprint. At least the way I see it, it is. And I'm here for the long haul of change and challenges and rising (maybe a little more slowly than before) to the occasion.

Not your ordinary preacher..

I find myself now-a-days talking more about religion than anything else. Out at bars, out at house parties, even outside of gas stations. I don't go to do this. It has lately just happen to be the conversations I get roped into. For example, walking into a gas station, I saw an employee talking about religion while smoking a cigarette. I didn't pry. I walked in and pre-paid some gas. Upon leaving, the employee asked me into the conversation, "what do you think?"
 

I'm not going to lie and say I jumped to the occasion. To be frank, I was quite tired and a little irritated at the moment since I had just paid an exorbitant amount for a tank of gas. But then here was the hook: the employee admitted that A. he was a Southern Baptist preacher, B. he cooked Bar-B-Que for the gas station for fun, and finally C. he gave out free food to those who were hungry.
 
 Dancing toe-to-toe with a Southern Fundamentalist preacher has always been an interesting conversation in my experience. Also, the fact that he practiced giving food to those who needed it sparked a light with me. So, I entered the conversation. I should have known his talking abilities (especially how long he could talk) would be great and powerful, but I joined the conversation anyway. He was chatting with the clerk of the gas station outside the gas station in the freezing cold and arguing his point about giving free food to those who were hungry. When he started talking about being touched by the Holy Spirit, I spoke up about the trinity: God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit. I felt confident that he saw the trinity otherwise, but he surprised me in saying, "exactly." Never had I ever had a point about theology line up with a Fundamentalist Southern Baptist. Always the joke amongst other denominations was that they were the backward ones. We kept talking and kept on agreeing on other things. I felt sure that eventually we were going to argue.

 I brought up a topic that I thought I knew he would disagree with: the validity of other religions. Once again, I was wrong. He brought up the Old Testament and the declaration that God says that he is the Great "I am" when asked who he was. He brought up that God can have many names. He even said that Judaism, Islam and Buddhism and Hinduism all call upon Gods, but that God himself has admitted that he has many names. I was quite honestly, impressed and blown away by this declaration. I've always thought of Southern Baptists as extremists of hate. But, I was wrong.

 I complemented him on the way he expressed his theology and faith and he told me that he had long experience with "spreading the good news" on the street corners in Chicago. I thought of all the cold days he did this. I thought of all the people who snuffed at his futile attempts. I thought of all the bitterness and disgust he would see from even people who considered themselves Christians but disagreed on the way some practice evangelism.

 I have to admit, I snuffed at the word evangelism for a long while because I equated it with "Bible Beating." But lately, since I have found myself talking about religion more than anything else, I have even come to think of myself as an evangelist, albeit a reluctant one. My friends frequently say, "you're the most religious person I know." Even an atheist friend of mine, one of my dearest friends in Oxford, said to me one night when I was particularly bitter about the Church, "don't you dare give up your faith." Is that an omen, a God thump that keeps coming back to haunt me? Another friend drunkenly admitted to me that I might be the only person in the world who could talk to her about religion and convert her, because I didn't pity her ideas about Christianity. I didn't see her ideas about faith as a hindrance, a blind soul who needs the light of Christianity. And I don't. I see her, and other friends, as confused and hurt and doubting as I am.

 A priest in my tradition is one who stays stationary, serving a particular church and a particular community. Maybe, for right now, I'm meant to be nomadic in preaching when people provoke me into religion. Maybe it's these conversations that are happening more and more the only way I've been able to keep my faith and not be entirely and completely cynical about the church. I don't need a collar to be priestly, I don't need an ordination to serve communities. I don't need vestments to show a symbol of what the church could mean. I just need conversations. I just need to be honest with my friends who, for some reason, seek me out when they feel that organized religion is old and flawed. Is this my calling? I don't know, but I think it's my calling for right now. And that is what matters.

It's been a long December...

...and there's reason to believe that maybe this year will be better than the last...

 I keep thinking that this month is December, although it is February. It's the coldest Winter I've ever experienced and usually the coldest month of the year is December, so I'm calling this Winter December Extended. Oxford, MS got ten inches of snow and it's colder here now than it has been for the past three years I've lived here. Yes, the title of this post is a Counting Crows song and it's been one stuck in my head since the beginning of December.

 2010 was a rough/great year for me. I finished my Master's and I experienced life on the West Coast. I saw Lake Tahoe and the Sierra Mountains. I got a taste of the feeling of being thrown into a professional atmosphere, and promptly failed at rising to that occasion. I had to move back home to Mississippi and file for unemployment. Finally found a job at a bookstore and am now waiting to hear back from PhD programs that would start in the Fall.

 There's a feeling I have that as rough as a start that January 2011 was for me, that it will get better. Yes, I still live with my Dad and that so far has been quite a challenge (I would say more on the subject, but he will probably read this, so I won't). Yes, it's been a hard thing to reconcile that I failed at doing something that I was enjoying so much. It's a hard experience to fail at anything, really. Being turned down from jobs and told I can't do things I love are two things I hate the most. My self-confidence in 2010 and early 2011 definitely took a hard hit.

 Good thing I've always bounced back, and stronger when I do. Being resilient and stubborn is actually serving me quite well at the moment. I've got the gumption to go out, when all things seem like they're failing and say to myself, "I can make this happen." I follow up on leads for opportunities to serve and opportunities to get paid to do things I enjoy (for example, teaching guitar and writing). I find what I can do well and see how I can manage to get paid for it. That's what I do and how I roll...

 ...and hopefully the funk from 2010 and January 2011 will roll right off my back..

I judge you by your bumper stickers...

I was driving behind a car with a 'coexist' sticker and a 'treehugging dirt worshiper' sticker and I thought to myself, "I might like to have coffee with this person." Then, it struck me. I judge most drivers by their bumper stickers. I think that might be a source of my road rage, because I do have a little bit of road rage, only expressed very eloquently. For example, if someone cuts me off on hwy 6, I say either in my head or outloud, "you clearly don't know your ass from your elbow. did your mother teach you proper anatomy or did you learn it from cinemax?"...

 Ok... so maybe my road rage isn't expressed in that way. That was me trying to make myself not sound as angry as I actually am when I have road rage. But, what is true is that whenever someone makes me angry on the road, I immediately justify their stupidity by what bumper stickers/license plates they have.

 I know, it's just as mean as racial profiling. It's even less predictable than that. I used to have a car that had a retired military license plate, but had every sticker from coexist to I love mountains to widespread panic to Sewanee to lazy magnolia beer. I had everyone on the road confused as hell. I'm pretty sure what would happen is that they'd see my bumper stickers and say, "this person is a bleeding liberal" as long as they were far away. Then, upon closer glance they'd see retired army plate and think, "maybe the military isn't all war-mongering jar heads." When finally they were passing me, I could even see their surprise and their relief/judging when they saw it was a 20 something woman wearing a leather safari hat with the windows down and a cigarette hanging from her left hand, blasting Arcade Fire or Joni Mitchell or Drake, depending on the mood.

 Did my retired army plate get me out of traffic tickets? Yes. Did my coexist sticker coupled with a military tag get me disdained looks from other cars with retired military tags? Yes. These things I can't help. Did my array of stickers serve as a way for anyone in the town of Oxford to know exactly where I was during the day? Absolutely. I frequently got text messages saying, "hey, I saw your car on the square, whatcha up to?" If I liked you, that was exciting because we could hang out. If I was lukewarm about you, I'd be stuck. Do I reply about exactly what I'm doing? Where is this person? Are they gonna hollar at me when I leave the door of Ajax? Then it'd be awkward that I didn't respond to the text when they see me on the square. How many people saw my car and thought to themselves, "there's blount." Kinda made me uncomfortable. I pride myself on my stealth-like behavior.

I drive a different car now, but I won't tell you what so you'll never know where I am. And that, ultimately, is the way to keep yourself from being judged by your car. Keep a car clean of bumper stickers and have just a plain old license plate.

You're welcome for all this wisdom on road rage/discrimination by bumper stickers/personal story told through bumper stickers, etc.

A Blount by any other name would...

Today I was struck by the many names I respond to. Most friends call me Blount (pronounced 'Blunt'), with the exception of friends who know me pre-1999 who call me by my first name, Margaret. The basketball team called me Cricket and the softball team, Margo. Oh, with also the exception of the folks who went back and forth between Margaret and Jocky (probably the weirdest name I've been called) from a camp from 1997-2001. Oh yeah, and don't forget the one person in the world who can get away with calling me 'Marge'... you're lucky I let you do that. Anyone else would be bruised with bandages. Wait, I forgot about senior year of high school when "Blountay" became popular due to a rather interesting story (which I won't retell here). Then in college out of nowhere came Blounty. Then we get to grad school and it's gotten shortened to 'B', which is a little confusing considering that a guy friend a good two feet taller than I also goes by 'B'.

 I've also been called darlin, sunshine, sweetheart, sunshine, pistol, tiger, champ...

 ... the list goes on...

 There's something odd when you look down the line of what you've been called over the years. Is it striking to remember why those nicknames come up? Are there certain things you did that sparked those names? For example, the basketball nickname of Cricket was sparked by the way I would jump start with a skip to run down the court. Kinda looked like a cricket apparently. Jocky was used because I was a Jock but needed a feminine twist other than calling me jock.

 But, so many times, I feel like the essential question is, what do I WANT to be called? A friend of my Mom's one day on the way to a football game asked in jest, "Well, which personality should I go by this time." To a certain extent, I think we're allowed to do that depending on which name you want to go by. Before moving to California, I asked around to see if I should go back to Margaret. My best friend cornered me at a party and threatened my life if I didn't go by Blount. Not really. But she made a good argument and probably threatened me a little bit.

 Picking a name, much like having the right to decide which restaurant is a matter of civil liberty. I've talked about first names and nicknames but what about last names? Traditionally, the last names we have aren't our own decision, at least the ones we are born with. But then, for some in this country, we have the opportunity to change our last names with the sacrament or ceremony of marriage. I say for some because that civil liberty is not extended to those in the LGBT community. And why? Because of the cry of Christian conservatives and Biblical literal translation. It's also a matter of discrimination due to fear and ignorance, in my opinion.

 Last summer I had the opportunity to be involved with a camp called the Summer Youth Institute. It was a group of about 30 high school students who are seeking not only to learn more about the African-American Civil Rights movement in Mississippi but also gather tools to go back into their own communities to make a difference. As part of the program, a session with PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays) was worked into the schedule. A member of that panel was Constance McMillan. She made the news headlines because she wanted to wear a tux and bring her girlfriend as a date to her prom in Mississippi. When she spoke, she felt it was necessary to bash the bible beaters and use a blanket statement that all Christians were like that.

 At this point I was forced into a weird decision: identifying myself as both a lesbian and a christian, I wanted those who identified in the LGBT community to know that it is possible to be both. I also wanted to keep the objective distance as a leader and not someone to bring the personal on the table. However, I ultimately made the decision to stand up and make a simple statement that being a Christian and a member of the gay community was not such an odd thing at all. Now, that was an uncomfortable situation for me. But it was necessary.

 How many times have we as individuals chosen to not stand up for who we are, both in name and essence, when it's needed the most? When have we been silent for the sake of not making a ruckus when we should have spoken up? Collectively as a nation we did it in the African-American Civil Rights movement, but on an individual basis, we do it everyday. It's as simple as refusing to speak up with your own name. It's as simple as standing up for your essential liberties.

I am Margaret Blount Montgomery. I am a sister, I am a daughter, I am a Christian, I am a Young Adult, I am an American and more importantly I am a champion of making this world a better place.

 Who are you?