Greater Than Fairness

In his nomination acceptance speech at the 2012 Democratic National Convention, President Barack Obama said this about fairness:

My grandparents were given the chance to go to college, buy their first home, and fulfill the basic bargain at the heart of America's story: the promise that hard work will pay off; that responsibility will be rewarded; that everyone gets a fair shot, and everyone does their fair share, and everyone plays by the same rules -- from Main Street to Wall Street to Washington, DC.*

As a child, I was a classic overachieving firstborn who thrived on "fairness". My sister and I are very close in age, so whatever one got, the other also received (or equivalent in order to ensure fairness). While fairness was a pretty common way of life at home, I had no guarantee that other arenas of my life would stick to the fairness clause. Playing childhood games around the neighborhood often resulted in my sulking because a rule wasn't fair. Or in gym class, I'd be one of the last kids picked for a team because I wasn't particularly athletic. As an adult, I still love the idea of fairness. I like to think I practice it as best I can at work and in my interactions with others.

I've been listening to NPR's On Being podcast this week; a Civil Conversations Project discussion about the future of marriage equality (which you can read about and listen to here). One of the speakers is pro-gay marriage, the other is against it. Still, they are able to sit down and speak civilly with each other as thinkers, activists, and friends even though they vehemently disagree. And this conversation made me think: what would the world look like if we treated every single person we met with the utmost fairness?

And then I thought: What if we could be greater than fair? What if we approached each conversation, each interaction with each person in our life from a place of fairness and respect, even if we disagree with that person to the core?

In President Obama's quote above, the crux of his argument is that everyone in America has a right to flourish; it's only fair. Our nation was built on the ideal that each person can fulfill their own destiny given a fair shot. (Although, over the centuries, some have been given less of a fair shot than others. Still, we are moving toward a place of total equality for all--a fair shot for each person regardless of race, gender/sex, or sexual orientation.) When we treat our neighbors and those in our community from a beginning place of mutual respect and fairness, we have already covered so much ground. It says, I respect your struggle. I respect the work you are trying to do with your life. I respect your right to your own opinion, even if I do not share that opinion.

For me, being fair means I need to work on being a better listener. And I sometimes find myself guilty of being close-minded as a liberal--making assumptions and generalizations about those with whom I disagree. If we could all identify what we need to work on to make our interactions with others start from a place of fairness, we'd see that we would make a lot of progress.

*There are so many more quotes I wanted to add; if you haven't heard/read the speech yet, you can do so here.

The core of belief

The midweek email sent out by my pastor this week challenged readers to live--really and truly live--Christ's commandments of love put forth in the Gospels. To love God above all else and to love one's neighbors as one loves one's self. I have been trying the past day or so to really do this in every interaction I have with people in my life, whether that be the students I help, the bus driver of my morning commute, or the lady who was my cashier at Target last night.

To love God above all else and to love one's neighbor as one loves one's self. Can it really be so simple?

Yes.

For this is the core of Christian belief. It's simple for a reason--even a child can do this. And the second part (loving our neighbors) is a part of the first: when we love our neighbors, we show honor and love to God.

I have an awesome community of friends on tumblr.com. They are amazingly supportive, funny, intelligent, clever, creative, and just all-around wonderful people who live all over the planet. Many of them identify as atheist or agnostic, and once in a while post things on their blog about how if the Church would have not done X, people might still be a part of it.

As much as that can sting, I totally agree with it.

For millennia--since its inception--the Church has used the Hebrew Scriptures and the New Testament to condemn and exclude people and to justify practices which have been and continue to be abhorrent. That is not a Church to which I want to belong.

The Church to which I want to belong accepts persons of all races, genders, sexual orientations, ages, traditions, and personal histories, and embraces them for who they are. The Church to which I want to belong should be rooted in the commandment of Jesus to love God above all else and love one's neighbor as one's self. Our evangelism is the work of our hands in our community, showing that we honor God by loving our neighbors by caring for the children, elderly, marginalized, victims, and the environment.

That Church sees those of other faiths and those who profess no faith and extends a hand of friendship, asking to work together for a more peaceful world.

That Church believes that the core of our faith is love.

Body: Broken and Blessed

My body is broken.

In March 2011, I came down with a textbook bout of shingles (herpes zoster, or HZ, caused by the same herpes virus as chicken pox). The searing nerve pain in my back accompanied with rashes along my side and front put me out of commission for nearly a week. After the rash had cleared, I still had pain in a nerve cluster in my back (to the left of my spine, below my left shoulderblade). I thought it would lessen with time and disappear within a few months. It hasn't. I'm among the approximately 20% of people who develop postherpetic neuralgia after they develop HZ, and among the less than 10% of people under 60 who suffer from PHN after a bout of shingles. The pain is pretty constant, but ranges from a dull ache (like a muscle ache after exercise) to a sharp, searing pain (like the feeling of being burned, but in my nerve). There isn't really a permanent treatment for PHN; prescribed painkillers or antidepressants aren't my cup of tea (tea is my cup of tea), but over-the-counter analgesics aren't usually strong enough. Knitting (my favorite activity and something I'm constantly doing--I knit 3-4 hours a day on average) aggravates the pain, but not enough to stop. I'm used to the dull ache, it's become a kind of numbness.

I have some combination of bursitis/arthritis in my left hip that's probably caused by years of dance. My hip clicks when I walk--I can actually feel it--and standing, walking, or sitting too long usually causes a mild amount of pain and discomfort. My desk and chair at work are no help--my desk sits too high and I have to raise my chair up, which means my feet don't touch the floor (I'm only 5'1"), so I sit all folded up in my enormous chair made for an enormous American ass, and by the end of the day, my hip and back are both aching.

Yet my body is blessed.

I am still able to recall--often by mere muscle memory alone--complicated pieces of choreography, complex ballet steps, how to move gracefully across the floor. I can position my arms, my shoulders, my spine, my hips, into any of the five ballet positions without even having to think about it. I remember how it feels to be drawn up into my center, and with a little effort, I can still hold a relevé in fifth position for a few moments. I can keep my center when I do pirouettes in my socks on my parents' hardwood floors, and on a lucky day, I can manage a double. I remember how it is to move with purpose, to tell a story not with my voice, but with my legs, my neck, my arms, my torso, my spine, my head, my eyes. I can still be graceful and adagio, or sharp and modern. I can hear music, a beat, a song, and create movement in an instant, unselfconscious about the way my body moves because I know that as I hear, I also feel.

I am still young, and despite the pain, I am in good health. I rarely get sick, I get enough sleep (and sleep well), and generally I feel good. I feel blessed in this body, even as it inevitably breaks down.

Reflections on a Pilgrimage

(This is the short piece I submitted to my church newsletter as a summary of my time at the 2012 Taizé Pilgrimage of Trust here in Chicago. My experiences go much deeper and are more heartfelt than I have succinctly described here.)
“When tirelessly the Church listens, heals, and reconciles, it become what it is at its most luminous--a communion of love, of compassion, of consolation, a limpid reflection of the Risen Christ. Never distant, never on the defensive, freed from all forms of severity, the Church can let the humble trusting of faith shine right into our human hearts.” --Brother Roger, Peace of Heart in All Things

During Memorial Day weekend, from Friday evening to Monday afternoon, over 700 young people ages 18-35 from 36 states, 6 provinces of Canada, Mexico, Haiti, and a few European countries gathered at DePaul University in Lincoln Park for the 2012 Taizé Pilgrimage of Trust. Three times a day (morning, midday and evening) we gathered for prayer with six brothers from Taizé (including Augustana’s new friend Brother Emile). At other times, we gathered for small group discussions, workshops, meals, and fellowship time together, discussing the role of Christians and faith in an increasingly divisive world.

The intent of the Pilgrimage of Trust was to bring together young people from all over North America to reflect on and discuss the necessity for trust in our own relationships with God and with each other as Christians, as well as with our congregations and the places in which we live. In his Saturday evening address, Brother Alois exhorted us to frame our relationship with God in trust, trust in God’s call to the work of our lives, and trust that we are loved, no matter how imperfectly we view ourselves. The silent time during Taizé prayer (lasting up to ten or fifteen minutes) gave us the opportunity to simply be still, calm our minds, and listen for God’s voice--a discipline that few of us have built into our busy lives.

On Sunday evening, Brother Alois challenged us to take our reflections and discussions from the weekend--as well as the strong feeling of community we experienced with others during those few days--back to the places where we live to create and strengthen trust in our communities. That might be through the work of our hands, through our worship, or, as quoted from Brother Roger’s letter above, simply the ministry of listening to the needs of our neighbors.

I visited Taizé in France in 2003, and this weekend was for me a wonderful reminder of “that little Springtime” (as Pope John XXIII called it). My spirit felt both at peace and refreshed, and I left on Monday afternoon feeling empowered and emboldened to serve as Christ did. I met some wonderful people from all over North America--Canada, New York, Indiana, California--who gave me great hope for the future of the Church. As Brother Alois states in his 2012 letter, “World peace begins in our hearts.”

I'm not shouting, I'm just excited.

I'm sure you've seen this gem floating around Pinterest/Facebook/tumblr/Twitter/your social network of choice. [Well, you might've seen the Introvert version first, and then I think the extroverts of the world rose up in a great cry for attention, clamoring "Where's OURS?!?" And, lo, this appeared.]

Some of you might know that secretly (oh, secret's out NOW, isn't it?) I think I started out as an introvert. I remember feeling quite shy a lot of my early childhood and a few of my earliest report cards note that I'm quiet but caring. Somewhere around ages 7 or 8, that changed. Maybe it was because we moved three times before I was 10 and I had to learn to make friends fast. Or maybe it was the coaxing of my parents to come out of my shell. Anyways, I ended up the hyperactive loudmouth so many of you now know and love.

Admittedly--being an extrovert--I've always had a hard time empathizing with the introverted point of view. Why WOULDN'T you want to be the center of attention? It's so fun! Why WOULDN'T you want to be friends with everyone in the room? Look at all those potential best buddies! Karaoke is AWESOME! GIVE ME A PIGGYBACK RIDE!!! (Okay, maybe some of those also have to do with my intrinsic hyperactivity as well. I promise my manic tendencies are merely an excess of energy, not a symptom of mental instability.)

ANYWAYS. I can find it frustrating to hang out with people who are introverted. And I bet you that introverted folk feel the same way about us crazy loudmouthed extroverts. Which is why the handy little aforementioned chart is particularly helpful. Not all the tips will apply to all extroverts, but eight of the ten are perfect for me, so keep these things in mind when dealing with your extroverted friends. And forgive their foibles with grace. I have a tendency to speak before I think, and will apologize as soon as I've said something I realize is offensive or stupid. Forgiveness with grace speaks volumes about you as a person.

Now that I've got that off my chest, WHO WANTS TO GIVE ME A PIGGYBACK RIDE?!?

An ending...and a rebirth.

Last night I got a text that I ignored.

Like I have ignored all texts from this person for about the past 18 months (although there have only been a handful--maybe less than 5).

I ignore this person's texts because they did something so completely unforgivable to me that I can't even bring myself to reply to their texts to tell them to no longer communicate with me.

I get a sick feeling in my stomach when I see a text from this person, and I'm reminded of the terrible thing this person did to me.

Part of me thinks I'm dealing with it perfectly fine because I can forget about it most days. But it's the rememberings that hurt so badly, make me so angry at this person and at myself, that fill me with regret for those dark days of my life.

Last night's text mentioned something about their leaving Chicago and wanting to see me before they left. I don't know if this is for good, but I pray that it is. I don't have to worry (irrationally, I know) about running into them any time I'm in their old neighborhood or pretty much any time I'm around the city. I don't have to worry about when I'll get another text from this person and what it'll say. And maybe I can work on releasing the regret I have about the whole situation.

I've never been good about letting go of guilt and regret (who is?). But when it's something like this, it eats away at me--mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically. Part of this is about forgiving myself for being stupid at a bad time in my life. I'm not irredeemable. (Thank God for grace.)

I know I haven't been too good about updating my blog, but I needed to get these thoughts out, because that always helps me. To see it in writing cements a truth for me. (Hmm, can we say the Gospel?) And I hope this begins a new wave of writing for me; I'll try to keep up with adding posts, reviews, recipes, photos, etc. on a very much more frequent basis.

Peace--for you, for me, for all of us.