So I realize that this has become a collection of my religious/political musings. But I think for the past generation or so, religion and politics have been the "not to be discussed at the dinner table" topics, and are finally finding themselves in the middle of everyday conversation.

I mentioned abortion in my last entry as a waste of time argument. Kenneth L. Samuel sees abortion as an inspiring conversation piece, an exemplar of the paradoxical Christian Republican issue. "Concerning the moral issue of abortion, progressives have been reluctant to make the moral claim that it is absolutely wrong to kill a person before he or she is born, then it must also be wrong to kill a person after he or she is born, which makes conservative support for capital punishment and the National Rifle Association morally inconsistent and indefensible."

I would have never, ever thought of that on my own. I believe Rev. Samuel to be absolutely correct, however harsh, but the way he phrases that sentence is condemning both sides. Progressive Christians are reluctant to call out to their more conservative brothers and sisters in faith, too scared to say, "Can we talk?"

Can you blame us? Have you seen the conservative Christians out there? Fred Phelps? Jesus Camp? A few years ago, after I got back from the first Synod, I was talking with someone who I really respected, having a really incredible theological chat in my driveway. We started talking about gay marriage, and when I expressed that I would probably be okay with it, I was told pointblank that I was wrong. I was really hurt by that--not so much that this person had a differing opinion, but that I was now blacklisted. Saying I was wrong left no possibility of there being an answer other than their answer, and no questioning of that opinion. 

What it comes down to is how you interpret the Bible. If you're going to be literal about it, and not ask questions, you may as well be programming a VCR. If there's ever something I want to not be, it is comfortable in my faith. I never want to be at a point where I have all the answers (though I believe this point is not possible, I know that acting like it is). Faith is meant to be tested--constantly. 

But back to conservative Christianity--Progressives are rightfully afraid of being hurt. We're the people who are constantly trying to figure out what we believe exactly (some people jokingly refer to the UCC as "Utterly Confused Christians"), and because we are so open to many options, taking a firm and lasting stance on something as complex as abortion without a catalyst would be naturally difficult. But history has shown that when we do find something, like the civil rights movement, we are whole-heartedly there. I can't really say where the conservative Christians were on that one--but Samuel mentions something about conflicting political beliefs and indoctrinated cultural ideas (meaning racism [homophobia hello??!?!]) keeping them quiet and on the sidelines of the battle for justice.

The past two entries (and really, anytime you talk to me) make it seem as though I just really want to bash conservative Christians, and that my contempt for them borders on cruel (perhaps even unchristian). But Samuel answers this too--at the foundation we are all Christian; this is the common denominator. While we stand at opposite ends of the spectrum on social issues, I'm fairly certain everyone says the Nicene Creed. Everyone tells the story and breaks the bread. All of us who claim to be Christian belong to a group based in love. It is only in this spirit that proactive discussion can be facilitated. I think there's much to be said for the phrase "In Christ Alone". I've been talking a lot about interdependence in my Buddhism and Intellectual Heritage class, and there's never been a time in my life I've understood more about it than now. I, as I am, cannot exist without other people (this is echoed in Mahayana Buddhism, Ubuntu theology [I am because you are] and Genesis). This is includes conservative Christians, too.

Progressive Christians like myself have major issues with this. We claim to "love the least of these" but forget about the people we love least. I always get excited at the prospect of one these popular, conservative televangelist pastors standing with us on an issue like immigration or poverty or AIDS rather than in silence (meaning, I am quite serious, against us).  

I went back and reread the original Kenneth L. Samuel piece (provided for you here at http://www.ucc.org/news/sermon-by-kenneth.html) and I was really struck (again and again and again) by his message. A bit, because the entirety of it is a lot to hear, let alone read in one sitting:
Michael Eric Dyson, noted author and theologian, says that when we close the bible we do not close God's mouth and we do not close God's mind. God is still speaking...And the God who still speaks is also the God who still listens. I hear God still speaking, saying "Come, let's reason together. Talk to me. I know you feel sometimes that your work is in vain," says the Lord, "but talk to me. I know you get discouraged and I know you feel like giving up, giving in, giving out, but" God says, "talk to me. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow. Though they be red as crimson, they shall be like wool." God says, "Talk to me. Come ye, disconsolate, where e'er ye languish, come to the mercy seat. Fervently yield. Here bring your wounded heart. Here, tell your anguish. Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal. God says, "Talk to me." It's amazing what a little honest, open, candid conversation can do. It's amazing what can happen, when we stop talking about one another, and start talking to one another. It's amazing.

And now we have resolution number two, on top of fighting justice in my own backyard, I want to facilitate this conversation. I avoided really having this conversation my entire high school career because I was afraid of being hurt, but more so of outing myself in the process of backing myself up. I am, however, making the (probably false) assumption that conservative Christians are unchanging and stuck to their ideals, and that I'll be greeted with the same "That's very nice, but can you please go away now?" that I faced in my own congregation after my sermon on immigration. It is time, as Edith Guffey (the associate general minister of the UCC, of whom I am quite fond) would say, for a family chat. Everything with Edith is a family chat. I love it, and it certainly applies here.

Like most goals I have, I am having trouble finding a starting point. I can muse endlessly about the subject, but when it comes time for action I am without a plan. Any ideas?

[And should you have been interested in what is actually going on in my life, I will say the following: This weekend Nathalie came to visit on Friday, I made pickles and Jello parfaits on Saturday, which was followed by an M. Night Shamalan double feature in the fort we built in my living room, and today I did few things of note. Tomorrow I will do laundry, go grocery shopping IN NORTH PHILLY at a MEXICAN SUPERMARKET which I am obviously WAY excited for, and maybe get some homework done. I hope that suffices.] 

So I had this epiphany (am I not constantly having epiphanies? Am I not constantly having these life changing moments? It would seem that I am, but I suppose if you average the number of actual events in my life by the number of entries on Xanga, and the number of those which chronicle my attempts to better myself, I would assume the number would be similar yours) last night reading Gandhi. Gandhi always seemed like a smart guy, and I understood/have read about his theories on nonviolence, but I had never read his theories on civilization. We had just finished Freud in the same class (which I surprisingly devoured and loved every second of, because I could accept a lot of what he said, but could negate a lot of what he said). Gandhi criticizes how we mark civilization, and what we choose to call "civilized". Gandhi argues that morality and religion are a stronger force in civilization than technological or medical advances. We consider violence and war as brutish, yet it is the more "civilized" nations (like our own), with the lowest poverty levels, who claim to be well educated, taking part in said warfare. People running around killing each other--this is what we call civilization?

Gandhi explains it much better than I do, but the point is that the only way we can civilize ourselves, that is, grow better as a society and global community, is to be more focused on religion and morality. Some would argue that there is a good majority of people focused on religion and morality in the United States. The Religious Right, the bane of my existence, has claimed religion as "their thing". Rev. Kenneth L. Samuels (who I saw two General Synods ago, and his speech on ucc.org is a MUST read) wrote this book about leadership in the church, but it strays a lot into the political arena. He essentially has written a book outlining my views on liberal Christianity. But he quotes Jim Wallis (God's Politics), "Since when did believing in God and having moral values make you pro-war, pro-rich, and pro-Republican? And since when did promoting and pursuing a progressive social agenda with a concern for economic security, health care and educational opportunity mean you had to put faith in God aside?"

If we consider what the Religious Right stands for, things like abortion and anti-homosexuality, we can see that they stand for issues that absolutely will not come to the house floor anytime soon. Even Obama has said that taking a position on gay marriage is futile--let's talk about the war, he said (which I said a few entries ago). But give the Religious Right an issue that is clear as day in light of the Bible--immigration, for instance--and we get silence. Clearly, not all religion and morality means progress when we have half-assed religion.

I do not mean to undermine anyone's relationship between themselves and God. But we all know that relationships are flawed and take work (this I know well). Sometimes you buy the girl roses just so she'll shut up. But know that reward will be temporary, as the roses took so little effort. God calls us to be more, to be courageous in our faith. I find it unacceptable to say, "So uh, today I fought against abortion, God, because it is a Christian issue." Shouldn't we apply Christianity to the hardest things? Why do we find God so left out of the issues that are the most pressing?

I may have written about this before, but I find the issues closest to me the hardest to deal with. I hate talking about being gay in relation to the Bible because I know how I feel about, but it is clear that other people have not wrestled nearly enough with it. And I'm going to be wounded by that. I hate talking about homelessness (particularly in Philadelphia) because I have to deal with that everyday. I can talk about immigration all the time because I don't live on the border. I can talk about AIDS in Africa all day because I don't live in Africa or AIDS. Focusing these issues don't place me in a terribly vulnerable position, or one that I have to wake up to every morning without choice. I know that they need to be talked about, but I also know that I need to act locally. I should wake up and stare my faith in the face. I do plan to work on that this semester.

And I don't want anyone to think I'm just beating up Republicans--Democrats are equally as wrong. We leave God out of everything. Obama and the clergy that support him make a good case for keeping God off the left side of everything. By doing this, Democrats isolate a serious portion of the voting population, we "Liberal Christians", who are unwelcome by those who share our faith and unwelcome by those who share our ideals.

Can you tell I've been out of the pulpit for too long?

[In regards to my last entry, I think we can rescind that one. Everything is upside down and messy again, not to say I'm not working on that, too. In short, my roommate dropped out and now I'm living by myself in a disproportionately large apartment. I know I'll never have this much space to myself for the rest of my life, and I am cherishing this time, but it is a little lonely. Thankfully, I have found good friends who know where the cups are and can get their own glass of water, who know where they can find a homecooked meal, and some of who find me amusing.]

I can't believe how big my bed is. Last night I slept with my laptop, my knitting, a box of tissues, a pair of jeans and pile of sweatshirts and didn't notice them in my almost twelve hours. I wish my bed at school was this big, not that I like to spread out, but so I could have all these things within easy reach.

Besides having a large bed at home, I love having someone do my laundry and feed me. I also love that Pitt has the same spring break, as Alex is home, meaning the knitting is on. She came over around 9:30 (and left about two and half hours later), solely to knit and chat. Alex and I don't talk while we're at school, but we reunite and nothing has changed; we just have more stories to share.

I had a lot of stories from this semester so far. Mostly because I have like, more than two friends now. I leave the apartment more often (and not just to knit). I may even be missing college right now.

Then again, I did need the break. Things were a little out of control. Actually, things just looked out of control. I woke up Friday morning in a position I did not expect to be in. I knew that I would later have to decide if what I was doing was a mistake or if I was okay; I alone would deal with the consequences. But I woke up feeling surprising at peace and in control. Kind of freaks me out.

If I had to come up with a good metaphor for my life, I think I would choose the pancake scramble I made this morning. You see, I make some pretty bangin' pancakes when I flip them correctly. But for whatever reason, this morning the pancake was sticking (this could have been a few things at this point in the Pancake experiment, but we later learned it was the brand of pan, Emeril, that had me all amiss. The man makes aluminum pans with no nonstick surface so they look fancy, but don't work that well unless you're a trained chef who uses more oil than you can imagine. If you don't have to deep fry your food, we learned, use something Teflon coated. I've always disliked Emeril, this really cemented it). So the pancake was sticking, right? And I tried my best to flip this before it happened, but if hadn't cooked properly on the first side, and fell apart. In order to salvage the pancake, I moved the uncooked parts down, so everything was cooked, it just no longer resembled a pancake. I really didn't know what I was doing, either. So, in other words, a mess, but still delicious. Not exactly what I wanted, but the same basic idea, and very filling.

So up until today, I would have said my life is like pancake scramble. Now, I think, I'd describe it as a nice collection of small boxes, stacked in neat little rows with nice surprises inside. Keep in mind, however, that today I didn't have to face any of my issues. Its almost like don't live here anymore. The more I am in Philadelphia, the more I feel like I live in Philadelphia. My pillow is there. My yarn basket is there. Five Guys Burgers are there. I like the life I've made for myself in Philadelphia, where Mondays are laundry days (and therefore, Mondays smell like Vanilla and Lavender), and Wednesdays I can expect company because I have Bravo, and three times a week I drink coffee. Here, I am rarely home, and when I am I feel like a waste of life, wandering around the house in gym shorts eating cookies, or following around my parents while they try to get work done, talking about something I know they have no interest in. I just don't have anyone else to tell. I also didn't communicate too well with them in high school, most of the time I just assumed they knew what I was doing and how I felt about everything, so maybe I'm trying to make up for that.

And my parents miss me, which is sweet. I was the child they knew wouldn't be stupid. I wasn't a perfect child (I am stubborn, which also makes me inpatient with people who don't see things my way, and unable to listen), but I never drank, or did drugs, or had sex, or did anything illegal really. And when I come home for breaks like this, I'm never in the right mood to be stubborn. It is so much easier to go with flow when you know you can leave in a week.

Anyway, I am going to crawl up in my big bed now. I just noticed that there is also a baseball hat, a t-shirt, and headphones at the other end. I will miss this next week.

I think the best thing happened to me tonight. Something so great I couldn't even express it to anyone around me, at the risk of sounding like an idiot.

This is borderline too-personal/in-the-relationship zone. But the story is so worth it.

I am an advocate for wool and alpaca outerwear. Naturally, I'm a knitter, and this is my medium. It bothers me when people don't put on a hat when it's negative ten degrees out. They're just letting all the heat escape out their heads trying not to mess up their hair. Fools.

So tonight I'm walking to meet some friends for dinner and I see this person I've been avoiding all semester. I've been pretty successful, and this has been fairly easy, knowing this person is also avoiding me. This person never wore a hat, and was constantly poking fun at mine (and my unavoidable hat head). Needless to say, it drove me up the wall.

I see this person, and my initial reaction is "This will be painful," and "How fast can I run?" But in that short moment of fear and nausea, I notice something:

THIS PERSON IS WEARING A HAT. Oh, and not just any hat. A WONDERFULLY THICK, WOOLY HAT IN A GREAT COLOR.

My heart just about overflowed. I was so glad something finally clicked, even if it was something as miniscule as "It is winter, wear a hat." It made me realize the potential for change both in this person, and in myself. I have been (of course) continually guilting myself over what happened with this person, and to know that they took something positive from the relationship (as in, learning the importance of bundling up) was just...really great.

Though I am not completely absolved of my guilt, I think there is more than a cliche lesson to learned (like, "there's always a silver lining", or "don't underestimate yourself."). The lesson is to wear woolen and knitted objects.

I wrote the greatest entry in my head yesterday. I was sitting in the Lancaster train station. I had just gone in to do a worship service and workshop Saturday morning, and wanted to get back that night. I went to go see some friends on campus, ended up missing my train, and despite having other options, decided to just sit. I just wanted to sit in the train station.

I forget that I love to just sit. The train station is perfect, of course. Just enough distraction, but not too much, fairly comfortable benches, a beautiful interior with really high ceilings, and the sun was just going down. I wanted to finish reading "Blue like Jazz"--a book a lot of people had recommended to me. I did not think I would like this book, mostly becuase of the people who had recommended it. I assumed that it would blast me with a conservative brand of Jesus, I would get angry, put it down, and rant to anyone who would listen.

But I kind of loved this book. The author, instead, calls out Republican Christians for being Republican, Liberals for calling out Republicans maliciously, and tells us he doesn't believe in Christianity as it stands today at all. Though I can't say I love the first few chapters detailing his conversion experience or the language around "sin" and "satan", he makes so many good points without jumping down your throat. Its more like the author muses on topics that were thrown to him at random and holds no regard for what is appropriate to be sold in "Christian literature". This man has lived with hippies, confesses the sins of Christianity in a confession box on the middle of a hostile college campus, and has fallen in love with Emily Dickinson.

Here's what he says in the chapter entitled "Romance":
"I mean that to be in a relatioship with God is to be loved purely and furiously. And a person who thinks himself unlovable cannot be in a relationship with God because he can't accept who God is; a Being that is love. We learn tha we are lovable and unlovable from other people," Paul says. "That is why God tells us so many times to love each other."

I never thought about it like that before. I had a really rough end of the semester/winter break/beginning of the semester relationship wise. I don't typically write about these things on Xanga (mostly because I think its trashy to share that kind of information on the internet, but also because it makes me look like a lunatic. I'm angry one minute, guilty the next, sad, confused, angry that I'm confused, but still really glad its over etc. etc.). This was precisely what I needed to hear, more over, something I needed to share with someone.

I've been doing a lot of picking and choosing recently. I really like the Buddhists. The more I learn in my Intro to Buddhism class, though, the more I understand I cannot be Buddhist. It is not only too hard, I have issues with nitpicky things my professor says. But make no mistake: If Buddhists believed in Jesus, they would be the best Christians there ever were. The thing about "unconditional love" in Christian churches is that it is indeed blatantly conditional. We have deeply rooted, historical social ethics that continue to remain unchanged. There are bad people in the world and good people in the world. I love what he says about this:
"If they were bad and rich, they were evil. If they were bad and poor, they were charity. Christianity was always right; and we were always looking down on everybody else."

Christians need to start saying they're sorry, admitting they're wrong. I'm really sorry we've killed people in the name of Jesus. I'm sorry we shut people out of our churches. I'm sorry I don't treat the church more as a family. I'm sorry we fight and bicker over miniscule things. I'm sorry I continually trashtalk other denominations. Not only am I sorry, I am looking to change this.

So that's what I was thinking yesterday sitting in the Lancaster train station. It is not as eloquent as I imagined (or as I believe I thought it yesterday).