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.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
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?
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?
Friday, January 21, 2011
Wake up in the mornin, strap shoes on my feet...
Lately, especially in this last week, my head does reruns. Not necessarily the kind of reruns you would see like "I love Lucy" or "Friends" or "Cheers" but instead reruns of the past. The flavor of this week is all the times I've fallen short in life. It seems my memory in particular is one that focuses on when I didn't do things in the right way. It seems as though it's harder for me to focus on positive things lately. And who blames me? I've just recently secured a job, temporary as it might be, which should be good news. It should be good news that I'm in Oxford, MS where I know a lot of people and am supported by my Dad and my friends. But there's the monster of not being able to finish my internship with the Episcopal Service Corps. There's the monster of knowing that I worried a lot of people. There are several monsters hiding underneath my bed and what do I do about them? When I was a little kid, it was easy... I just said "Our Father..." and eventually went to sleep. But I'm not a little kid anymore. I'm 25 and should be able to look underneath my bed, realize it's just a bunch of dust bunnies and let it go.
Problem is, I can't seem to shake it off these days. I've never been good at shaking off past events when they were particularly embarrassing or they hurt my pride.
We are living in a time when our nation's pride has been hurting for a while. People are still losing jobs. And I'm sure they have reruns in their minds too. They think of what they didn't do right. They think of all the people that they let down. However, things seem to be on the up and up but it's hard to see economic trends when you're waiting for an unemployment check or medicare or medicaid to help you out.
What is it about being vulnerable and asking for help such as unemployment checks that keeps us thinking that we're failures? Is it our country's founding on individualistic ideals? The idea that we should be able by sheer will to make our lives better? I've heard people who are against unemployment benefits say that people should just get off their couches and get a job. In this country and in most places, I would say, "what job?" They seem to be disappearing. Where did they go?
Living in the Bible Belt of America, there are some that insist that praying will solve everything. Praying will get you a job. Praying will take the hurt away. There has been a lot of praying going on these days. Is it solving anything? I'm not sure. It's hard to see the good that's happening when bad news hits from all sides. Even if there is a silver lining, the darkness of bad news seems to overcome it.
So what do you do? Do you say that there's a reason for everything? I've always taken great person offense to that with genocide and hurricanes and other natural and man made disasters taking many lives.
Or is our problem that we keep thinking about the past and the future and not today? Is our problem that we're not focused on what we're doing and doing it well? I was looking at a discussion that uses the following quote from Barbara Brown Taylor. I think that is the answer that we're looking for. To be here in the now and ask ourselves, "what should I be doing, right now?" instead of "what am I going to do" or "what have I done."
"Every morning when you wake up, decide to live the life God has given you to live right now. Refuse to live yesterday over and over again. Resist the temptation to save your best self for tomorrow...Live a caught-up life, not a put-off life, so that wherever you are...you are ready for God." Barbara Brown Taylor
History Lesson.
My Dad and I went to go see the King's Speech in the theater the other day. For those of you not familiar with the premise, it was that a Prince of England affectionately called Bertie, suffering from a speech impediment, must learn to overcome that speech impediment in order to lead his country. This is all set during the beginning of World War II, when Hitler was just starting his rise and quest to conquer the world. For those who aren't history buffs (and I am, in fact so much that I'm pursuing a PhD in History), the British were trying to figure out exactly what Hitler wanted. Neville Chamberlain (not to be confused with Neville Longbottom from Harry Potter), the current Prime Minister, took an action of appeasement to Hitler. Winston Churchill, on the other hand, felt the need to rise up and fight the Germans. All while this shift of power from Neville to Winston, the Germans were bombing Britain. This country, the United States of America, seems to be always on the cautious side of entering war. Why is that?
With World War II, there was a great deal of debate before the US entered the war. Many had the opinion that we didn't need to stick our nose in other people's business. That is, until Pearl Harbor. Then we got angry and united enough to support the war. I'm sure that there were some people who opposed the world war, but they were mainly called communists and were dealt with in their own way. Meanwhile in this country, we took people who had immigrated here from Japan and Germany and started to interrogate them heavily to find out if they were in alliance with the enemy.
If this sounds familiar to you, the act of figuring out who exactly is the enemy and interrogating them and locking them all away in a single place, it's because that has been the history of the world dealing with war. Those who might be in allegiance with the enemy are segregated from society for the society's own good. Those who are segregated are treated badly, and suffer mentally from such segregation as well as physically. There is something about being told that you are the opposite of what a larger group wants and are distrusted, that regardless of what you believe and can prove, that damages the soul.
Major shift change is about to happen here, so brace yourself.
How should we treat enemies? Is it right to segregate them from society in situations that are intolerable to them physically and mentally? The history of the world, the earthly existence, says yes, yes we should. Society should not be exposed to that kind of horror, regardless of whether the individual is guilty or not.
But is this earthly world the only judgment on how to treat those who might be dangerous? Here's where the shift from History to Religion begins. The Romans, when they were in power in Europe and most of the "Civilized World" treated the Jews as enemies. They wanted to stop every revolution because that would upset their title as the world power. There were facets of the Jews who said, "let's get these Romans back for what they've done to our community." This was started way before Jesus was born. Then, there was all this talk about a Messiah. Now, the Romans didn't quite get what that meant for the Messiah to be in the world. They mostly thought of a leader in terms that the Romans understood, which is a emperor who will conquer the world. The Jews didn't quite understand the Jesus take on the Messiah as well. Even the disciples were profoundly stupid when it came to many of the parables and teachings.
My favorite disciple in the New Testament is Judas. There are some Christians still who treat Judas as the ultimate enemy, the one who betrayed the Messiah in the ultimate way. I've always been curious as to the question, "why Judas?" There were plenty of people who could have been the one who finally turned Jesus in. There were many in the inner circle. Judas was part of the Jewish population that saw the Messiah as a leader to throw the Romans off the Jewish collective back. And, according to some theologians and historians, Judas was the closest to Jesus. So, why would you choose your best friend to be the one who betrays you? Why would God allow that to happen? How could Jesus have said that "one of you will betray me tonight" and NOT know that it was Judas. In my opinion, Jesus knew that Judas was going to be the one. Maybe the plan all the long was that Judas was going to be that person who played that role. I can't imagine the pain of having a good friend betray you, but we've all felt like that for some reason or another.
I'm not arguing that we should let our 'enemies' on Earth destroy us and kill us and not do anything about it. I'm just arguing that if we're going to take a page from the New Testament and actually think it through, we should start wondering about how we should treat our enemies in our hearts and be open to understanding why exactly they are doing what they are doing. We should treat them as we wish to be treated....
.... which isn't a new idea at all....
With World War II, there was a great deal of debate before the US entered the war. Many had the opinion that we didn't need to stick our nose in other people's business. That is, until Pearl Harbor. Then we got angry and united enough to support the war. I'm sure that there were some people who opposed the world war, but they were mainly called communists and were dealt with in their own way. Meanwhile in this country, we took people who had immigrated here from Japan and Germany and started to interrogate them heavily to find out if they were in alliance with the enemy.
If this sounds familiar to you, the act of figuring out who exactly is the enemy and interrogating them and locking them all away in a single place, it's because that has been the history of the world dealing with war. Those who might be in allegiance with the enemy are segregated from society for the society's own good. Those who are segregated are treated badly, and suffer mentally from such segregation as well as physically. There is something about being told that you are the opposite of what a larger group wants and are distrusted, that regardless of what you believe and can prove, that damages the soul.
Major shift change is about to happen here, so brace yourself.
How should we treat enemies? Is it right to segregate them from society in situations that are intolerable to them physically and mentally? The history of the world, the earthly existence, says yes, yes we should. Society should not be exposed to that kind of horror, regardless of whether the individual is guilty or not.
But is this earthly world the only judgment on how to treat those who might be dangerous? Here's where the shift from History to Religion begins. The Romans, when they were in power in Europe and most of the "Civilized World" treated the Jews as enemies. They wanted to stop every revolution because that would upset their title as the world power. There were facets of the Jews who said, "let's get these Romans back for what they've done to our community." This was started way before Jesus was born. Then, there was all this talk about a Messiah. Now, the Romans didn't quite get what that meant for the Messiah to be in the world. They mostly thought of a leader in terms that the Romans understood, which is a emperor who will conquer the world. The Jews didn't quite understand the Jesus take on the Messiah as well. Even the disciples were profoundly stupid when it came to many of the parables and teachings.
My favorite disciple in the New Testament is Judas. There are some Christians still who treat Judas as the ultimate enemy, the one who betrayed the Messiah in the ultimate way. I've always been curious as to the question, "why Judas?" There were plenty of people who could have been the one who finally turned Jesus in. There were many in the inner circle. Judas was part of the Jewish population that saw the Messiah as a leader to throw the Romans off the Jewish collective back. And, according to some theologians and historians, Judas was the closest to Jesus. So, why would you choose your best friend to be the one who betrays you? Why would God allow that to happen? How could Jesus have said that "one of you will betray me tonight" and NOT know that it was Judas. In my opinion, Jesus knew that Judas was going to be the one. Maybe the plan all the long was that Judas was going to be that person who played that role. I can't imagine the pain of having a good friend betray you, but we've all felt like that for some reason or another.
I'm not arguing that we should let our 'enemies' on Earth destroy us and kill us and not do anything about it. I'm just arguing that if we're going to take a page from the New Testament and actually think it through, we should start wondering about how we should treat our enemies in our hearts and be open to understanding why exactly they are doing what they are doing. We should treat them as we wish to be treated....
.... which isn't a new idea at all....
Sometimes it takes time (or so I've been told).
There's been a slew of these last few months being told that, "now's not the right time." There's been a slew of being told I'm not quite the right person. There's been a slew of, "maybe if things were different" and even, "maybe if you were different."
To me, that's too many slews. Way too many slews can get you in a funk in my opinion. When slews overwhelm a person, it's hard to keep the bright side of things in perspective. It's hard to remember what you're actually good at. It's hard to realize that people know who you are and care about you. As you are. Even when things aren't the best of times for you. And more importantly, it's damaging when the slews are coming from places that know you're a good person. It's hard to hear, "we're turning you away for your own good." It's very hard to realize that sometimes, that's the Church (once again I'm making a big 'C' distinction for the wider church and Christianity in general).
I've gone back and forth on believing the church is where I ought to be. When I hear those slews brewing from the churches I belong to, I shut down. I might put on a good face, but I shut down. It's too hard for me to reconcile a place that has a mission to be Christ-like can be so cold and shut its doors. What do you risk by keeping your doors at least figuratively open? What is wrong with allowing people of all backgrounds, of all ailments, of all issues, to come into your doors and seek at least SOME good news. There is a slew of bad news in this world. There are deaths, there are tragedies, there are personal issues and we've been told (at least in a small way) that the church is a place where you can bring those things and lift them up to God. More and more I am tempted to say, I can do that without a church and some of the hypocrisy.
Why do I need a church community when I have friends outside of the church who play poker? Why do I need a church community when I can go to a bar and see people I know who want to hear about what's happening in my life and don't give a damn if I'm in a bad mood or not? I've got plenty of communities, and took church as a community seriously. But apparently for me and some of my friends, the church as a community isn't taking us seriously.
I think it's just so hard when I feel committed to the Episcopal Church and there's at least an impression of the Episcopal Church not being committed to me. Like with any good commitment, it's a two way street. Bad times, good times, times in between.
I used to get so angry when people would say, "this is just a time of God testing you." I think rather, it's a time of me giving the Church an exam and they're failing it miserably. And any good professor would be faced with this decision in that situation: do you give up on the student who continuously falls short or do you go out of your way to help them. Well, I'm tempted to give up on this student. Tempted that is. Not decided. The Church might need to show some improvement first.
To me, that's too many slews. Way too many slews can get you in a funk in my opinion. When slews overwhelm a person, it's hard to keep the bright side of things in perspective. It's hard to remember what you're actually good at. It's hard to realize that people know who you are and care about you. As you are. Even when things aren't the best of times for you. And more importantly, it's damaging when the slews are coming from places that know you're a good person. It's hard to hear, "we're turning you away for your own good." It's very hard to realize that sometimes, that's the Church (once again I'm making a big 'C' distinction for the wider church and Christianity in general).
I've gone back and forth on believing the church is where I ought to be. When I hear those slews brewing from the churches I belong to, I shut down. I might put on a good face, but I shut down. It's too hard for me to reconcile a place that has a mission to be Christ-like can be so cold and shut its doors. What do you risk by keeping your doors at least figuratively open? What is wrong with allowing people of all backgrounds, of all ailments, of all issues, to come into your doors and seek at least SOME good news. There is a slew of bad news in this world. There are deaths, there are tragedies, there are personal issues and we've been told (at least in a small way) that the church is a place where you can bring those things and lift them up to God. More and more I am tempted to say, I can do that without a church and some of the hypocrisy.
Why do I need a church community when I have friends outside of the church who play poker? Why do I need a church community when I can go to a bar and see people I know who want to hear about what's happening in my life and don't give a damn if I'm in a bad mood or not? I've got plenty of communities, and took church as a community seriously. But apparently for me and some of my friends, the church as a community isn't taking us seriously.
I think it's just so hard when I feel committed to the Episcopal Church and there's at least an impression of the Episcopal Church not being committed to me. Like with any good commitment, it's a two way street. Bad times, good times, times in between.
I used to get so angry when people would say, "this is just a time of God testing you." I think rather, it's a time of me giving the Church an exam and they're failing it miserably. And any good professor would be faced with this decision in that situation: do you give up on the student who continuously falls short or do you go out of your way to help them. Well, I'm tempted to give up on this student. Tempted that is. Not decided. The Church might need to show some improvement first.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
I guess sometimes I DO have luck
Today's post was going to be, "If I didn't have bad luck, I would have no luck at all"... a quote from a Koko Taylor cover of an older blues song. I guess I should revise that idea for a post because today... (drumroll please) I FINALLY got a job. Here's how that happened...
While waiting for the Brown Bag Lecture series (a series that happens with the Center for the Study of Southern Culture) that happens to be about home brewing beer (something that I've been thinking about taking up as a hobby), I stopped by Barnes and Noble on the University of Mississippi's campus to follow up on an application for employment there. I thought that my old employer, Square Books, might take me on, but when I went to get coffee there this morning, I found out they were training two new employees, which I took (in my very perceptive mind) to mean I did not in fact get the job back at Square Books. So, since I was in the area of the Campus Union (where Barnes and Noble on campus is), I stopped by to follow up on an application. And, got a job promptly. I start this weekend.
Boooyah.
While waiting for the Brown Bag Lecture series (a series that happens with the Center for the Study of Southern Culture) that happens to be about home brewing beer (something that I've been thinking about taking up as a hobby), I stopped by Barnes and Noble on the University of Mississippi's campus to follow up on an application for employment there. I thought that my old employer, Square Books, might take me on, but when I went to get coffee there this morning, I found out they were training two new employees, which I took (in my very perceptive mind) to mean I did not in fact get the job back at Square Books. So, since I was in the area of the Campus Union (where Barnes and Noble on campus is), I stopped by to follow up on an application. And, got a job promptly. I start this weekend.
Boooyah.
Monday, January 17, 2011
I believe in the Church, just not your churches...
Gandhi was quoted once (at least I've seen it on a bumper sticker) with "I like your Christ, but not your Christians. I wish your Christians would be more like your Christ"... or something along those lines.
Likewise, I would say, "I believe in Church, just not your churches." It is a dismaying thing to sit down and realize that there are few churches that I would call home. In my home state there aren't many places where there are more than one Episcopal church. Which leaves me with one option, if I want to stay in the Episcopal church (which I do). The problem with this is that not all churches are entirely welcoming and warm to young adults. Even some with college ministries (if you're lucky) aren't open. My Mom once wrote an article for the Mississippi Episcopalian entitled, "Episcopals are the frozen chosen ones." There's something to that argument, I feel. Now, many people my age and older are giving me the response, "what then can we do to alleviate that problem?" and the answer is, "I don't know, but it has to change."
I've been reading a book lately called "Ancient Faith, Future Mission" edited by Steven Croft. I picked it on a whim, but it really talks about the problem that churches, specifically Episcopal (and by Episcopal I mean the Anglican church in America) churches have. We're just all assuming that everyone should be Christian and if you're not a Christian, we don't care. That is, in my opinion, the greater American attitude. I can't tell you how many times I have heard the argument, "America is a Christian nation." As a student of history (I have my bachelor's degree in American History) I can definitely say that America was founded on deism, with the opinion that whatever your religion (it just so happened to be that most people were Christian), you could practice it. Now, then the colonists encountered the Native Americans, who weren't Christian, and thus they were discriminated against. Hypocritical? Yes. But it seems that's the American way.
But back to my denomination. So the Episcopal church is very inward focused. They mostly (and I'm making a blanket statement here) have the same opinion as most Christians in America do, which is, "If you're not Episcopal, you don't belong here." There are a few exceptions made for people who have the guts to walk into an Episcopal church (which in the South usually means you're "well to do") and stick out the odd stares they get. I once on an Ash Wednesday was asked to move to another pew in the church by an older man because "I was in his seat." What?! Isn't there a bit in the scripture about hospitality and being humble and inclusive? No, according to this old gentlemen. And to be honest, that was the reason I didn't attend the rest of Holy Week's services.
That is the exact opposite of what Christians are called to do. The church is not your social club. The church is not a place where you have assigned seats. It's a church of God and God is not discriminating, unless you want to revoke what I learned in Sunday School. If that is the case, that God and Christians discriminate, have assigned seats, snear at people who show up to the sanctuary because they're not dressed properly, then I want no part of that church. That breaks my heart, but that's the truth.
In high school, I attended a friend's child's baptism. At said baptism I wrote a poem about the perspective of a drunk showing up at an Episcopal church, who was seeing it as his first time in a church. I wrote about priests and their vestments as cross-dressers with beards. I wrote about the man not liking the host (the bread blessed as Jesus' flesh) but loving his blood (the wine blessed as Jesus' blood). I wrote about a child acolyte handling incense as a child would do tricks with a yo-yo. It seems that even when I was an established Episcopalian, I could see the perspective of the marginalized in church.
About five years back, I once again had a revelation about the marginalized in the Episcopal church. I had a dream that I woke up in the choir loft of my home parish, which was at the time an Episcopal church in Pass Christian, MS. In most choir lofts in churches in the South during the 60s, those spaces were reserved for Black people to be segregated as second class church-goers. I woke up in a bed in the choir loft surrounded by Black people and immediately assessed that I was not welcome there. So, in my dream, I jumped down from the choir loft. As I walked down the aisle of the church, behind the altar, where elements (bread and wine) are blessed as sacraments, I noticed something odd. The walls were replaced by video images (much like the videos lined up in one of the Matrix movies). What was even more harrowing was that these images behind the altar were of different segments of my life. Now, I'm no dream analyst, but to me that speaks pretty powerfully that even though I am marginalized and discriminated against in the Episcopal church, I have a place in it somewhere, and in my opinion, that place will eventually be serving the sacrament to those who feel they have no place in the Episcopal church.
In summary, I believe in Church in its original theory. I believe in a community constantly challenging itself to be more inclusive, welcoming and Christlike. What I don't believe in are most churches that are by the looks of it, just another social club that takes on the ritual as a hobby. I am tired of people taking Christianity on as a hobby. I am tired of the Episcopal church as I see it to be a networking tool and a social club. The only thing I like about the Episcopal church right now is the Eucharist. That is the sacrament (an outward sign of an inward and invisible grace) that ties us (in theory) all together.
I have been burned enough by individual churches and Christians in general to make me want to become an atheist. And that's the honest truth.
Likewise, I would say, "I believe in Church, just not your churches." It is a dismaying thing to sit down and realize that there are few churches that I would call home. In my home state there aren't many places where there are more than one Episcopal church. Which leaves me with one option, if I want to stay in the Episcopal church (which I do). The problem with this is that not all churches are entirely welcoming and warm to young adults. Even some with college ministries (if you're lucky) aren't open. My Mom once wrote an article for the Mississippi Episcopalian entitled, "Episcopals are the frozen chosen ones." There's something to that argument, I feel. Now, many people my age and older are giving me the response, "what then can we do to alleviate that problem?" and the answer is, "I don't know, but it has to change."
I've been reading a book lately called "Ancient Faith, Future Mission" edited by Steven Croft. I picked it on a whim, but it really talks about the problem that churches, specifically Episcopal (and by Episcopal I mean the Anglican church in America) churches have. We're just all assuming that everyone should be Christian and if you're not a Christian, we don't care. That is, in my opinion, the greater American attitude. I can't tell you how many times I have heard the argument, "America is a Christian nation." As a student of history (I have my bachelor's degree in American History) I can definitely say that America was founded on deism, with the opinion that whatever your religion (it just so happened to be that most people were Christian), you could practice it. Now, then the colonists encountered the Native Americans, who weren't Christian, and thus they were discriminated against. Hypocritical? Yes. But it seems that's the American way.
But back to my denomination. So the Episcopal church is very inward focused. They mostly (and I'm making a blanket statement here) have the same opinion as most Christians in America do, which is, "If you're not Episcopal, you don't belong here." There are a few exceptions made for people who have the guts to walk into an Episcopal church (which in the South usually means you're "well to do") and stick out the odd stares they get. I once on an Ash Wednesday was asked to move to another pew in the church by an older man because "I was in his seat." What?! Isn't there a bit in the scripture about hospitality and being humble and inclusive? No, according to this old gentlemen. And to be honest, that was the reason I didn't attend the rest of Holy Week's services.
That is the exact opposite of what Christians are called to do. The church is not your social club. The church is not a place where you have assigned seats. It's a church of God and God is not discriminating, unless you want to revoke what I learned in Sunday School. If that is the case, that God and Christians discriminate, have assigned seats, snear at people who show up to the sanctuary because they're not dressed properly, then I want no part of that church. That breaks my heart, but that's the truth.
In high school, I attended a friend's child's baptism. At said baptism I wrote a poem about the perspective of a drunk showing up at an Episcopal church, who was seeing it as his first time in a church. I wrote about priests and their vestments as cross-dressers with beards. I wrote about the man not liking the host (the bread blessed as Jesus' flesh) but loving his blood (the wine blessed as Jesus' blood). I wrote about a child acolyte handling incense as a child would do tricks with a yo-yo. It seems that even when I was an established Episcopalian, I could see the perspective of the marginalized in church.
About five years back, I once again had a revelation about the marginalized in the Episcopal church. I had a dream that I woke up in the choir loft of my home parish, which was at the time an Episcopal church in Pass Christian, MS. In most choir lofts in churches in the South during the 60s, those spaces were reserved for Black people to be segregated as second class church-goers. I woke up in a bed in the choir loft surrounded by Black people and immediately assessed that I was not welcome there. So, in my dream, I jumped down from the choir loft. As I walked down the aisle of the church, behind the altar, where elements (bread and wine) are blessed as sacraments, I noticed something odd. The walls were replaced by video images (much like the videos lined up in one of the Matrix movies). What was even more harrowing was that these images behind the altar were of different segments of my life. Now, I'm no dream analyst, but to me that speaks pretty powerfully that even though I am marginalized and discriminated against in the Episcopal church, I have a place in it somewhere, and in my opinion, that place will eventually be serving the sacrament to those who feel they have no place in the Episcopal church.
In summary, I believe in Church in its original theory. I believe in a community constantly challenging itself to be more inclusive, welcoming and Christlike. What I don't believe in are most churches that are by the looks of it, just another social club that takes on the ritual as a hobby. I am tired of people taking Christianity on as a hobby. I am tired of the Episcopal church as I see it to be a networking tool and a social club. The only thing I like about the Episcopal church right now is the Eucharist. That is the sacrament (an outward sign of an inward and invisible grace) that ties us (in theory) all together.
I have been burned enough by individual churches and Christians in general to make me want to become an atheist. And that's the honest truth.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)