Hit By A Really BIG Bus...

...that's what I'm feeling lately. Not sure I can talk about it yet. But I will. 

And I have a "migraine hangover" so please bear with me... It was a 2-Maxalt headache, but it seems like I've got a bit of a fog going on.

Just A Few Things...

Just a few things have happened lately. The Cubs won the World Series. Yes, they did!

And we elected a bullying moron for president. Yes. We did. 

I watched the Cubs, though I admit I went to bed in disgust when they and their bats didn't show up for that one game. But I did it. I'm glad I was able to do that because being a life-long Cub fan, it's certainly something I've never done. So I guess I can cross that one off my bucket list. 

I would like to go to a game at Wrigley just once. I hear that it's the atmosphere more than anything else. You certainly won't have the amenities one has at home, like multiple camera angles, your favorite chair and a quick trip to the bathroom! But it would be nice to see it. I suppose I could find some knitting to bring along with me. 

I love the chalk wall. This is on one wall of Wrigley Field (probably two walls, by now) and grew organically. The management let it be, and people have been adding "In memory of..." messages since the Cubs won. Management is going to preserve it in photos though they've already said they're going to eventually power-wash it all as they continue to renovate the ball field. By all rights, my grandmother and my great-grandma should be on that wall. But they're in my heart, so that's all that matters. I will be making some small "W" flags and will, come spring, plant them at their graves. 

The cemeteries clean the gravesites to prepare them for winter, so if I do anything now, it's likely to be removed. 

We can wait. 

We've waited this long...

Knitting...

So, I was an election judge this year, and I knew it was going to be busy. Despite what the national results were, our polling place was constantly moving. We had over 560 voters (we're tiny - this was a big turnout), and I think our longest break was perhaps 20 minutes. 


I knew the baby sweater wasn't going to cut it. I was at the only fiddly-bit on the whole thing: adding the curve to the neck. Instead, I grabbed the Shape-It scarf since the wings are straight knitting. 

I sat next to Nick, a newbie judge who was THE. SLOWEST. TYPIST. EVER. We have tablets to check people in, though we still vote on paper. Nick was the absolute slowest person on the planet, and it was all I could do to not snatch the tablet from beneath his fingers. 

He was trying, bless his little heart...

And in a lull, he says to me, "Are you crocheting?" Hey - I give him props for KNOWING enough to ask. So I explained that I was knitting, and I let him pet the baby alpaca yarn. His mother "did one or the other, I don't know" and he has a "blanket" that was done for him. 

Very nice guy. And he appreciated the alpaca (or he was a great faker about it!). But I really didn't get more than 2 rows done, maybe 3. I'm going to try to put a few more rows on in the next day or so. I want to get it done so that I can block it out and wear it when the weather finally turns. It'll look lovely with my leather coat.

The baby sweater is growing. I'm on the sleeve, got about maybe 10 rows to go before I bind off there, and finish the body. Then - done. Just the buttons. 

I realized, to my chagrin, that the buttonholes are askew. Blast! It was the World Series. I'm going to have to take the sweater to a priest for a blessing as it is, since during a few of the games, I wasn't saying anything nice... I'll just tell mommy that the whole thing is asymmetrical and this is a design component. 

That works. 

I think I can pull a matching hat out of the yarn I have left. And maybe a pair of booties, but I'll have to put some brown tops on them or something. Haven't gotten that far yet. Or maybe I do the hat with a brown ribbing edge? Or stripes? It could be cute. And the buttons are brown, that's why I'm veering in that direction.

Christmas Baking 2016...

The Great Potica Bake Part I has happened. Ten. Count 'em. TEN long loaves, 2 small ones. Kid #2 came down to help, because of Hubby's chipped wrist bone - he didn't have enough flex in his wrist to help roll. 

I tried something different this time. I did the prep in stages. I did the filling and stuck that in the fridge on Friday. Then, on Friday night I did the dough.

I checked with my friend and chef Carolyn - and she said, "yeah do up to the first rise and stick it in the fridge - it'll rise a bit and should be fine."

Well. It doubled in size and popped the lid off the sealed bowl. Hmmmmmm. 

I was off to a church function on Saturday, and The Kid was going to come down around noon. We serve lunch at the local homeless shelter as part of our outreach. Sadly, I was kind of verging on a migraine, which didn't help (and yeah, it "bloomed" after the last bake, thankfully). 

I asked Hubby to take the dough out of the fridge, and I think we had a bit of a problem estimating how long it would take to warm up. Just as, I think, we underestimated how long it would take to cool off - the rising happened because the dough was warm and it took a while to chill, so the yeast did its thing...

The Kid took charge of the filling and did the "drudge work" of greasing pans and flouring the cloth. I wanted him to help roll, but seeing as he's a large guy (tall - just about 6'2") and has hands that are "basketball hands" -- that didn't work out well. 

I ended up doing the rolling, and as the dough came to warm up, the rolling was - even though I hesitate to say it - perfect. Seriously, no trouble after the first one, which was still too cold. 

See, here's the issue: Potica dough is notorious for being more finicky than you can imagine. It's bothered by temperature. It's crabby about humidity. It's cranky about the amount of flour on the cloth... And it's picky about the rolling pin. 

I ended up with my marble rolling pin. (Hey mom, since I've been doing these for 6 years now, can I have Dad's ball-bearing solid oak rolling pin, please???) It worked well, and the cloth, being fairly new, actually behaved better than last year. 

There's also mythology about the cloth too. We had a damask tablecloth. It was, in my estimation, about 40 years old. I finally retired it the year before last, when it got too hole-y to patch anymore and the darns were so large that they were tearing the dough. 

The dough has to be thin, and the cloth was already worn. The darns didn't help. So we bought a new one a few years ago, and it's taken some punishment to break it in. It's good now, I think. 

I rolled, he prepped the rolled dough (and no, I can't give you details. The mythology also involves secrecy about the exact components of the recipe. My granny would haunt me.), and we got it all put together. 

We thought at first that we'd have to re-do the last batch of dough because of the extraordinary rise it got overnight, but it seemed like everything went well. 

We may do another single batch over Christmas break so that we have extra for Easter. It freezes well. And I've got 4 of them sold for Christmas already. Thankfully, I got 4 "pretty" ones out of this day's work. Kid #2 got one of the half-loaves for his help.

Frankly, I missed Kid #1 - he's our "premier roller" and he's working out of state. He may not even come home for Christmas. I'm not sure I'm ready for that. But I don't have a choice in that one, that's for sure... All I can do is send him a care package and hope he's doing ok. 

So here's The 2016 Cookie List. It's mostly final. I may put together a biscotti, just to lighten up all the heavy flavors. 

Kid #2 has his list and he usually brings them to our family celebrations. 

This is the list that ends up on my holiday platters for gifts. So there also may be some pumpkin bread or some date-somethings. 

I like to have variety, and while I appreciate the tradition of the same cookies, I always try a few different ones every year to shake things up a bit. I noticed that I didn't add any "bread" or "bar cookies" so those might make it on there. 

The "walnut tarts" -- those are a new invention of mine. I have more potica filling left. I didn't make it as "wet" as Hubby thinks I should, but I think it's too wet and doesn't cook well when the filling is too heavy. And my dad never put a lot of filling in. And the dough was especially thin this year, as I mentioned, so I went with a little lighter hand. 

Hubby has been bugging me. Nay - he has been positively NAGGING me to try his grandma's Never Fail Pie Crust. I've been avoiding it, because I don't do pie crusts. But Kid #2 tried it (he also stinks at pie crusts) and told me (ha!) "The Curse is lifted...it works, so go for it." 

So what I thought, since I only have about a half-batch of filling left, and there's no way I can make only a "half-batch" of dough, is that I might try a tart. Tiny tarts. Like pecan tassies, if you know what those are. If not, I've provided a link. My granny used to make these, too. 

This is the experiment for the day. It may flop tremendously, but it might be ok. We shall see. 

Garden Bounty...

The garden has given up everything but the carrots, and those are coming out soon. 

This is the last of the kale, and Hubby got a 2-quart bag full of Brussels Sprouts, which isn't bad for our first year. 

It's getting cooler, so I'm not in the mood for smoothies. I did The Google and found that I could just bag it and freeze it (after washing, of course!). I bought a can of soup for the office and it's Kale, Quinoa and Red Lentil. That shouldn't be too hard to duplicate. Or even a creamy kale soup? Or adding it to a veggie soup. Once it's frozen, I can chunk off a hunk and dice it up, toss it in a stew or soup, and there ya go. 

Or I can let it stay in the fridge and use it next year for smoothies. Either way. Didn't want to waste it, so this is a great alternative. 

If anyone has any decent recipes, I'm all ears. I know I can't do my usual sauteed kale. Like most greens, freezing changes the texture. Maybe I can fiddle with Mario Batali's Kale Pesto recipe. Boy, I wonder if that would be too strong? Kale makes itself known, and sometimes that's not always good. 

I'm also wondering how the Brussels Sprouts will be, and I'm toying with a potatoes-and-sprouts recipe for Thanksgiving. We still have Rosemary in the garden, and I've frozen some basil and parsley. 

As has been our practice, we're doing most of Thanksgiving again, though my mom is hosting. I don't mind, and in past years, we've been parceling out the side dishes to the grandkids - they have to learn somehow, so it's a good thing to do. And for the most part - they're mostly boys; they'll eat anything. 

The Election...

OK, I think I'm ready to talk. 

I was devastated by the results of the election on a couple of levels. First, in full disclosure, I am not a fan of Hillary. I was a Bernie voter and I would vote for him again in a heartbeat. And I think he'd have beaten the bullying moron (or BM as I shall hereinafter refer...).

Do I believe we need a woman as president? Absolutely. Just not her. 

Is she qualified? Absolutely. But we don't do political dynasties here in the US. It was bad enough with Pappy Bush and Shrub. And then Jebbie tried again - and failed miserably. 

Hillary, despite her qualifications, has more baggage than O'Hare International Airport during the Thanksgiving weekend. It was never going to happen. I'm sorry to burst bubbles, but it wasn't going to happen. 

As usual, Democrats sat on their laurels and underestimated "the base." That nebulous group of individuals who vote and always, always stun the professional data-geeks spoke, loudly.

That being said, many people spoke by silence. The voter turnout was at a historic low for a presidential year - especially given the contentious nature of this election cycle. 

Stuff is whirling around about the Electoral College being overturned, and maybe we need to have that discussion - when tempers and emotions have cooled. We really do need to at least talk about it. It wouldn't have mattered which way the election had gone, because the discussion about the institution itself needs to be had. We have drilled into our kids' heads that "your vote matters," but really, in a presidential election, it doesn't seem to. Hillary has won the popular vote. But she lost the EC vote, at least for now. 

The Federalist papers say that the Electors have a duty to make sure the president is fit and to determine if there are any things or issues which would disqualify the candidate. The BM clearly is not qualified. The terrified visage portrayed during the ceremonial White House visit is clear. 

While I cringe at the thought of Kim Jong Il and Vladmir Putin at a state dinner, I feel for my younger sisters-in-life - the women of child-bearing age who will clearly have all choice taken from them if that guy gets hold of the Presidential Pen.  

So my choice is to sit and wring my hands; do "Facebook activism;"** or actually, you know, DO SOMETHING. 

I'm choosing to do something. I'm not sure what, but I'm taking Bernie's advice as seen in this clip here. I posted this and a friend of mine, who for some reason HATES Bernie, said she "couldn't bear his sneering face." 

I don't think Bernie sneers. But I appreciate her bruised feelings. I don't like her tone, but I can only control my own reaction to others. 

I have already contacted my senator and representative, and asked them to demand that the BM release the taxes. We have a right to see if there are any disqualifiers there (see the comment on the EC above). I'm going to donate to causes which will have an impact. I'm going to write letters. I'm going to call people (which is REALLY out of my comfort zone) and I'm going to talk to local officials, too. Nationally, we must do something about the stranglehold now on our government - and locally, we could always use the help, too. It starts locally, and grows into a global movement. 

**Facebook activism refers to those folks who "click" or "share" something and then feel all proud of themselves for "being involved."

Don't kid yourself. You're a speck on the cosmos. You're better off getting off your rear end and actually contributing something: even a little bit helps. Make a phone call. Write a letter. Join a cause. Contribute money if you can. But don't sit in your chair clicking away and thinking you're changing the world. Because you're not. 

So that's my take. I will do my homework and pick a cause or causes to concentrate on. And I will get involved. This is our wake-up call. 

Random Picture... 

So the deck is coming along. We have a "deck" part, we have railings (not up yet) and posts. The steps are all stained and coming along. Even with a chipped bone in his wrist, Hubby is plugging along. 


Today, we take down the hummingbird feeders and get them stored away for winter. He may even mow one or two more times this season. He's determined to get the deck done before the cold sets in. I will, of course, post a picture of the finished product. 

We chatted about whether we're going to put the grill out there. "Or do you want to sit out here," he says. 

We've had a lovely patio he put together about 10 years ago. Upon which we've rarely sat. Even with nice chairs. We have a porch. Upon which we've rarely sat... We're not really "outside-sitters." But maybe we should be. 

It's all part of being a part of your neighborhood and a part of society. We've lost the "porch sitter" aspect of our neighborhood, and I think that's to our detriment. I am horribly shy (go ahead, laugh, but it's true). I don't like to be in situations where I'm faced with people I don't know. 

But it's time to step out of that comfort zone. Not like I'm going to change the world, right? 

But then again, by changing my own attitude, am I not making a step toward changing the world? Margaret Mead said it best: "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed citizens can change the world; indeed it's the only thing that ever has."

The fiscal cliff, Republican obstruction, and yoga

Somewhere in there, there's gotta be a theme!!

So, the fiscal cliff: it's a speed bump. I love how the media dramatizes everything. Even supposing (shocking, I know) that McConnell et al refuse to bargain and everything goes flushing, those cuts are phased in over FIVE YEARS. Five years. That's 1,825 days.

You're not gonna wake up and magically have your taxes raised and the economy in the toilet. It's available out there, folks - just read.

Republican obstruction: Like that's news? McConnell and the bunch need to realize that mid-terms are coming up and the American people (those who voted in this landslide election, remember??) are fed up with the divisive nature of politics. They're sick of seeing everything stuck because someone's having a hissy fit. So Prez Obama won a second term. Yes, he did, and yes I voted for him.

Y'all need to get over yourselves.

Yoga: I got to sub and teach my first yoga class last week!! How fun it was - and how nerve-wracking. I've been practicing for at least 7 years or so. But getting up in front? That was a bit scary. Luckily, the students took it easy on me and I had a practice that was fairly benign. No backbends; no pretzel poses.

I'm looking forward to teacher training in 2013 and hoping that after it's all done I have a place to teach. Just part-time. But I want to do this. I think I have something to offer.

"Biblical Marriage" Concept...

Well, with the recent Chick-Fil-A crap going on, I figured I'd just mention something obvious, that I learned in church last week...

The conservatives ramble on and on and on about marriage being "sacred" and "between one man and one woman." We'll leave the majority of the biblical citations alone - those showing that a man can have more than one wife (simultaneously) and is entitled to lie with his concubines, his slaves, prisoners of war, etc. Those are just "piffle" compared to the conservatives' strong moral assertion that marriage is SACRED, BY GOD, AND WE ARE THE STANDARD-BEARERS.

This inspite of so many Republican politicians being "caught with their toes tapping in the bathroom" among other things. And they don't resign. They keep going - which amazes me, because it serves that old adage, I guess. "If you repeat a lie long enough it becomes the truth." So conversely, if you ignore the willful disregard for the "sanctity" of their own marriages, then I suppose their constituents can as well. Remember, Newtie Patootie said he was compelled to have multiple affairs because of his "patriotism." And now as a converted Catholic, he and Calista (wife and former mistress while prior wife was dying of cancer) are paragons. I guess.

Anyway, on to church. We have recently been attending St. John the Evangelist Episcopal Church and have truly enjoyed the switch from Catholic to Episcopal. It was a little strange at first, but we have rarely felt so welcomed and so embraced.

So we went last Sunday and the first lesson (First Reading in Catholic) was 2 Samuel 11:1-15... which I am telling you now that I absolutely do not remember in all my zillion years as a Catholic. At least not in this fashion.

This reading tells about David and Bathsheba. The following part caught my eye: "...he saw from the roof a woman bathing; the woman was very beautiful. David sent someone to inquire about the woman. It was reported, "This is Bathsheba daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite." So David sent messengers to get her, and she came to him, and he lay with her. (Now she was purifying herself after her period.) Then she returned to her house..."

Wowza. Period and extramarital sex all in a few sentences. And then, farther along in the reading, David gets Uriah drunk  so he and Bathsheba can play footsie together, Bathsheba becoming pregnant after the first round of sex. Then, David --- who, if you remember, is the David who slew Goliath, the poet, the writer of psalms.... David sends a letter, delivered to the battle commander by Uriah, who was apparently illiterate. The letter said "Set Uriah in the forefront of the hardest fighting, and then draw back from him, so that he may be struck down and die."

Add "murderer" to that glowing description of David.

My point is this. Well, two points. First, I've never quite heard this version, though I've seen the Hollywood movie. Second, let's add this to the pantheon of verses that really rather bash traditional marriage. I'm pretty sure Uriah wasn't keen on just letting Bathsheba go. Cultural differences of which I may be ignorant may play in here --- David was the Big Cheese. Perhaps whatever (or whoever) he wanted, he got and Uriah didn't have a choice.

But let's just suppose for the sake of argument that Bathsheba and Uriah were for the most part, contentedly married. Then, some Big Cheese summons her out of her purifying bath (sorry, the period thing still kind of blows my mind) and has sex with her. She's married. He knows that. And he goes ahead with his own selfish wants and desires.

This hardly sounds like a good biblical argument for 'traditional marriage.' It sounds like those folks were pretty randy and surely not as straight-laced and conservative as today's conservatives would like to portray them - or themselves, for that matter.

Either way, the Bible is open to interpretation. And without doing too much scholarly thinking, I'm thinking David didn't exactly respect the "traditional" marriage. He didn't have any qualms about seeking out a woman he wanted. And getting her. And then killing off her husband, if not by his own hand, by his own command.

This section alone kind of blows the conservatives' argument out of the water. And it's not the only one.

Gay marriage will happen in some form or another. There's so much science out there proving that it's not a "lifestyle" but a biological trait. It seems that with our economy in a snail's-pace recovery, a huge budget battle looming, wars on 2 fronts... with all that going on, Congress and the conservatives have this stuff to argue about?

How about, just for fun, you folks get the jobs done that we need you to get done? Oh, maybe they really ARE, since Mitch McConnell said that his job was to make President Obama a one-term president. But I think that with the "do-nothing congress" we're now seeing, Mitch may be sweeping out some of his buddies with that same broom. People are fed up with the wrangling and lack of action.

I think - and I hope - that we're past looking at the shiny objects distracting us, and we're paying attention to what matters: getting our country going again. Moving forward instead of staying in limbo arguing about stuff that in the end won't change anything.

Just 32 Words...

 A friend of mine sent me the copy of her pastor's recent sermon. She goes to a Universalist Unitarian Church, and this was the talk the pastor gave.

Much food for thought. I have edited it for some grammatical "oops" that happened. And made the poetry into that format. Any colors, bold or italics in the text are there to point out things I consider significant. Otherwise, this is what she sent me. Think about this. And ask yourself: Where am I when it comes to the 32 words?

It makes me want to try harder.

White Bear Unitarian Universalist Church Sunday 3 April 2011 Larger Love Transcending The Reverend Victoria Safford



vsafford@whitebearunitarian.org


Larger Love Transcending


“I am a conservative Republican and an evangelical Christian.” So writes Mark DeMoss, founder of the Civility Project, which he started in 2008, together with his friend Lanny Davis, who is a liberal Democrat and a Jew. They could not be further apart politically or theologically, but their shared hope, on the eve of President Obama’s election, was to change the tone of political discourse, wherever it happens – in statehouses and Senate chambers, in the press, or in the street – and to encourage “graciousness, kindness, common decency and respect toward all people, and particularly those with whom we may disagree.” Last May, the Civility Project sent a letter to every member of Congress and every sitting governor - 585 letters - inviting them to sign the “Civility Pledge.” “The bar couldn’t have been lower,” says DeMoss. The pledge is very simple, just 32 words:


I will be civil in my public discourse and behavior. I will be respectful of others whether or not I agree with them. I will stand against incivility when I see it.


Eight months later, they had received just three pledges from three members of Congress, and from other people, tons of hate mail, laced with obscenities. DeMoss says they were not looking to dismantle partisanship or to limit free speech, nor to encourage unity of opinion, but they concluded, sadly, “Too many people in public life equate civility with unilateral disarmament.” Or with weakness, or with a naïve, nostalgic, impossible ideal. In January they closed the project down, although the tragedy in Tucson, and the hate-filled speech that came before and after it, almost made them reconsider. In a letter of thanks to the three co-signers of the pledge, DeMoss wrote, “I have been encouraged by the words and disposition of our president – a man I did not vote for and disagree with on almost every policy issue. Still, I would defend him as a man who loves his family and his country and wakes up each morning desiring to do what is best or both… If you don’t like Obama’s words,” he says, “try these, taken from…the Bible: But with humility of mind let each of you regard one another as more important than himself. That verse alone, if taken to heart, would make America unrecognizable – and beautiful.”


Politics has always been a blood sport - and religion, too; I don’t think these guys would try to change that. But somewhere in the last - what? Five years? Ten? – we crossed some kind of line as a society, a culture, a mass of mixed cultures, on the radio, TV, the internet, and the result is very dangerous, not only to little girls and elected representatives and others in parking lots in Tucson, but to our character as a people, and our spirits, one by one, our souls.


That pledge they wrote is very basic –


I will be civil in my public discourse and behavior. I will be respectful of others whether or not I agree with them. I will stand against incivility when I see it.


- And yet I wonder if I myself could sign it in good faith. I think I’d be okay in terms of public or professional behavior, but what if it included private discourse also, casual conversation, the things I say in jest, or not in jest, about politicians whose opinions I dislike? What about religions we don’t like, or relatives who disagree with us on issues that we care about, or co- workers, or anyone, those others, about whom we may sometimes speak scornfully, derisively, if not on the radio or on a blog blasted out to millions of blood-thirsty readers, then just among ourselves? Within ourselves? Am I respectful of others whether or not I agree with them? The pledge sets a high bar after all. In some liberal communions, “sin” is defined, gently, as “missing the mark.” This might be where it lies for us; this question of respect may be where we sometimes miss the mark. I think of the little parable in Jean Olson’s poem:


I tried so hard to bring him to my level. ... he struggled but could not rise.
I pulled with one hand, and then two... I finally sat down next to him
And he gave me some cool water to drink.
Suddenly we were both there.


In the matter of humility, we may sometimes miss the mark.


Not long ago I was at a gathering of local ministers, a friendly and informal lunch. It’s “interfaith,” but only when I go; otherwise it’s Protestant and Catholic. I find a most warm welcome there. We were talking about Japan, the devastation of the earthquake and the growing nuclear disaster. This was common ground, the shared landscape of grief. Then one colleague said that for him the crisis proves what he’s been saying all along, that the only solution for American energy is to drill for oil, wherever we can, as much as we can, as soon as we can. He didn’t say this with arrogance; in fact he said, “I know some of you will disagree with me,” but right away I felt a veil descend between us, an iron curtain of my own design. I tagged him then (this was all subconscious, involuntary, but still real) as someone I’m just not even going to try talk to (even though I barely know him) - he’s too conservative, politically, religiously, environmentally; he won’t understand me; his mind is made up; I’ll never “bring him to my level;” he’s dangerous, he’s stupid, he’s wrong. I could feel the tectonic plates of my heart shifting and locking into place. I dismissed him easily, though I’m sure I was smiling and superficially polite. And I’ve been thinking on it since, wondering how that happens, why I do that, why I choose shutdown or retreat instead of engagement, which is always difficult, but which I know is the holy work of human beings. This is where justice begins, and peace, everything I say I care about, the worth and dignity of every person, including him, including me. Why, instead of deeply knowing someone, understanding him, hearing where he’s coming from, where he’s truly coming from, and seeing him as worthy, would I write him off? I was not uncivil there, I wasn’t ranting (at least outwardly), but nor was I practicing my faith, my beautiful, open-minded, open-hearted, radically hospitable and brave Universalist Unitarian religion. I was “missing the mark,” even though no one else could see it, and missing most of all the opportunity to grow my own spirit. It’s been said by many linguists and philosophers that we cannot describe the world we see - we can only see the world that our limited language allows us to describe. I think it’s also true that we cannot see or hear or hope to know or love the person whom we label; we just label what and whom we won’t take time to understand, the one whom we’re afraid to understand, or too proud to try to understand.


Yehudi Amichai, poet of Israel, has a poem called “The Place Where We Are Right:”


From the place where we are right
     Flowers will never grow
In the spring.

The place where we are right
     Is hard and trampled
Like a yard.

But doubts and loves
     Dig up the world
Like a mole, a plow.

And a whisper will be heard in the place
     Where the ruined
House once stood.


That whisper, made of doubts and love, and risk and courage, is the sound that at our best we strive to hear. That’s the song we’re trying to sing, as Unitarian Universalists, as good people, and it is an old, Universalist hymn tune. Its harmonies are hard, demanding, and it takes a lifetime to learn it. It is the sound of radical inclusion, this love of self and other that insists all are saved; none are lost or worthless; all are worthy. Not all ideas, not all opinions, not all policies and principles, but every single person. “Lower the bridge,” says Mario Benedetti, who wrote from the other side of the world, in Uruguay, “Lower the bridge and keep it down:”


I can stay here in my bulwark in this or that solitude ... enjoying my last clusters of silence...


but I’m aware, I know, I never forget that my fertile voluntary destiny is to become the eyes the mouth and hands for other hands and mouths and eyes


lower the bridge and keep it down


let love and hate and voice and shouting in let sadness in with its arms open wide and hope with its new shoes... let rage and its dark gestures in let in good and evil and that which mediates between them which is to say the truth, this pendulum. let fire in with or without rain . . .


let in the one who knows what we don’t know...


in short to avoid confusion let in my fellow, the insufferable, so strong and fragile one, the necessary one the one with doubts, face, blood and a life that ends the welcome one


lower the bridge and keep it down.

It is the hardest thing. How can you hold to what you hold most dearly, the truths that guide your life, the work that gives it form, everything you love and fight for, and still engage the person whose other truth, whose own truth, threatens to destroy what you most cherish? How can you engage at all, let alone civilly, when everything’s at stake, endangered, vulnerable, quite literally melting down? Think of any issue that you care about - civil liberties, gun violence, immigration reform, women’s rights, workers’ rights, gay rights, human rights, racism, poverty, justice, peace, the fragile, sacred web of life on our endangered planet - how can you engage at all, and why would you engage at all, with someone “on the other side” whose mind and heart you cannot change, why take the time, why take the risk?


I think that we can only do it if we do our first work first, meaning, if we take care to sink deep roots, binding our various ideas, our arguments, our opinions and our thinking about things to what we feel most deeply, to what we know within, to what each of us calls sacred. I know that I don’t know all I need to know about nuclear power, say, or about drilling for oil, but I know that I am guided by a sense of reverence for the earth and all that lives upon it, and I am guided by an intuition of old virtues like prudence and restraint and conservation, living lightly, proportion, moderation, deep respect. There’s a difference between what you believe, which may be any number of things, they change and shift as you learn and grow- there’s a difference between what you believe, and what you believe in, what you know by heart. When we engage from that deep place, it seems to me we’re less likely to be shaken, to be caught off guard, to be defensive or dismissive. If you care, say, about workers in Wisconsin, care passionately, it’s good sometimes to unpack that passion, to get down to what in that issue is so deep for you as to be an ethical principle, not just an opinion but a spiritual touchstone, part of your religion even. “I believe,” you might say, “in the inherent worth and dignity of human beings. That’s the very heart of it. That’s why I care so much.” And on that sacred ground, from which, like a tree that’s standing by the water you will not be moved, a human conversation can begin.


Jane Bacon is a member here who has thought about these things more deeply and courageously than anyone I know. (She commissioned today’s topic at the service auction here in 2009.) In one of our discussions she reminded me that though the issues here are huge and over-arching, overwhelming, they play out day-to-day on the very small, human-scale stages of our ordinary lives. “I don’t have to try to understand Glenn Beck,” she said, “or be his friend, or give him any thought at all or even care about him. What I care about are the people I know and the people I meet who care about him - and they are many. What do they really want? What do they fear? What longing is in them? What do they hope for? What emptiness in them wants to be filled by the things that he says? Is it related at all to the emptiness and fear that I feel every day? They sound desperate to me; is their desperation connected to mine? Shouldn’t I care about that? Shouldn’t we, as religious people, care about that?” Jane shared an article from the UU World where someone wrote:


At one time I worked for an ecumenical church council that discussed the problem of “Christian triumphalism,” the belief that Christianity is the best religion and will in the end win over the others. I think there is also a problem of “UU triumphalism,” the belief that our religion is the best and that collectively we ourselves are the best human beings, the most rational, open- minded, and devoted to the pursuit of objective truth. [It may be] so. But we are desperately needy for deep contact with people whose hearts have learned humility and equality. This is where I personally feel too much alone. I yearn for others who openly acknowledge their deep life experiences of failure, shame, and even “sinfulness.” Such feelings are central to our humanity. Sharing them is essential to community.


I’m thinking way back, through years and years, to a definition of nonviolence given to me by an old, old friend. Wally Nelson was already old when I first met him years ago. He first joined the civil rights movement in the 1940’s. Together with other African American activists and together with Black and white clergy, he was developing this method, this habit of being, this way of engaging political work and the work of being a person; this difficult, beautiful spiritual discipline that in time would compel thousands of people in their work for social justice. Some of that work took Wally and others into segregated restaurants long before the famous Greensboro sit-ins. People spat in their faces, spat in their food, poured ketchup on their heads, dropped burning cigarettes down their shirt collars, and beat them and jailed them. When I met Wally, decades later, and asked him how he could withstand it, how he could talk about loving his enemy and truly mean it, how he could talk about the necessary transformation not of someone else’s twisted heart, but of one’s own, he gave this definition: Nonviolence is the constant awareness of the dignity and humanity of oneself and others; it seeks truth and justice; it renounces violence both in method and attitude; it is a courageous acceptance of active goodwill as the instrument with which to overcome evil and transform both oneself and others. It is the willingness to undergo suffering rather than inflict it. It excludes retaliation and flight. It was from him that I first heard the age-old line, “There is no way to peace; peace is the way” - which is a hard and hopeful teaching.


In our tradition, it shows up as Universalism - the larger love, transcending understanding, in which we are all held, from which we all come, to which we all return, and through which we are called to see, to seek, to honor, to recognize, to bless the worth and dignity of everyone - not the policies and politics, not the principles, opinions and ideas, but the common, living, dying, laughing, weeping humanity of everyone.


lower the bridge and keep it down


let love and hate and voice and shouting in let sadness in with its arms open wide and hope with its new shoes...


let in the one who knows what we don’t know...


in short to avoid confusion let in my fellow, the insufferable, so strong and fragile one, the necessary one the one with doubts, face, blood and a life that ends the welcome one


lower the bridge and keep it down.


MEDITATION


Think of someone with whom it’s hard for you to speak, someone about whom it’s hard for you to speak, someone you can barely talk to, whether you’ve tried to or not.


Maybe it’s a famous person, whom you perceive to hold power, dangerous sway over events and policies and people; maybe it’s not a famous person at all, but someone in your life who clearly holds power over you.


Imagine a conversation between you, how it would go if your intention were not to win, to triumph, but only to be heard, truly heard, deeply seen and finally understood. Imagine if your intention were to see and hear and understand in return.


From John O’Donahue, a Catholic, come these words:


Now that you have entered with an open heart
Into a complex and fragile situation,
Hoping with patience and respect To tread softly over sore ground in order
That somewhere beneath the raw estrangement
Some fresh spring of healing might be coaxed
To release the grace for a new journey
Beyond repetition and judgment,

And have achieved nothing of that,
But emerged helpless, and with added hurt…
Withdraw for a while into your own tranquility, Loosen from your heart the new fester.

Free yourself of the wounded gaze
That is not yet able to see you.
Don’t allow your sense of yourself to wilt.
Draw deep from your own dignity.

Temper your expectation ...
And take your time carefully,
Learning that there is a time for everything
And for healing too...


Draw deep from your own dignity. ________________________________________ FIRST READING


from Jean Olson, Unitarian Universalist


I tried so hard to bring him to my level. I spoke eloquent words of encouragement and he struggled but could not rise. I pulled with one hand, and then two. I tried to lift him, to pick him up and carry him. All to no avail. Hot and exhausted, I finally sat down next to him and he gave me some cool water to drink.


Suddenly we were both there.


SECOND READING Mario Benedetti, poet of Uruguay, from his poem “Against Drawbridges”


I can stay here in my bulwark in this or that solitude without any right enjoying my last clusters of silence – I can look out look on time on the clouds, the river vanish in the far foliage


but I’m aware, I know, I never forget that my fertile voluntary destiny is to become the eyes the mouth and hands for other hands and mouths and eyes


lower the bridge and keep it down


let love and hate and voice and shouting in let sadness in with its arms open wide and hope with its new shoes let in the germinal and honest cold and the summer with its scorched sufferings let resentments with their mists come in and farewells with their bread of tears let the dead come and above all the living and the old smell of melancholy


lower the bridge and keep it down


let rage and its dark gestures in let in good and evil and that which mediates between them which is to say the truth, this pendulum. let fire in with or without rain . . . let work in and above all leisure that right to dream, that rainbow


lower the bridge and keep it down


let in the dogs . . . the midwives and gravediggers the angels if they exist and if not let in the moon


lower the bridge and keep it down


let in the one who knows what we don’t know who kneads the bread or who makes revolutions and the one who can’t make them and the one who shuts his eyes


in short to avoid confusion let in my fellow, the insufferable, so strong and fragile one, the necessary one the one with doubts, a shadow, face, blood and a life that ends the welcome one


keep out no one but the man in charge of raising the bridge


at this point it should be no secret to anyone


I’m against drawbridges.


[Translated by Robert Marquez and Elinor Randall]