Tag Archives: wounds

Tools for Allies: #BlackLivesMatter

So many incredible writings by friends, colleagues and beloved strangers about how allies can be connected to the work of #BlackLivesMatter. I wanted to add some of these things here with links– hope this is a resource that keeps growing, would love to receive what other people find.

Writings, Resources and Tools from Across the Web:

From the Standing on the Side of Love (SSL) Campaign, a Ferguson Conversation Guide (Script) helping guide facilitators in a faith-based, principle-rooted approach to the difficult conversations about race and racism. If your community is talking about “now is the time to listen,” use this tool to help you get started– don’t make listening happen in isolation. Listening in isolation isn’t listening.

Challenge the “theological cop-out” of changing #BlackLivesMatter to #AllLivesMatter. Check out Rev. Dan Schatz compassionate, compelling and deliciously direct response to a community letter asking him to take down his sign. I read this incredible response in the SSL newsletter with article written by Rev. Mykal Slack listing ways for allies to address the national conversation of race and racism in their communities. 

An excerpt from Rev. Slack’s newsletter for SSL:

So my hope, going forward, is that we can all commit to doing a few things:

Acknowledge the discomfort. Acknowledging and understanding the ways in which racial disparities play out in our homes, schools, workplaces, and especially our churches is hard. It just is, and remaining silent about it won’t make it any less uncomfortable.

Listen actively. Most often, we can only see beyond our own lens not by talking, but by listening. Putting ourselves in positions to hear the stories of people who are most deeply impacted by racial disparities will grow our heart and head muscles, and at this moment in our nation’s history, we can’t afford not to listen or grow.

Understand the significance of #blacklivesmatter. Shifting the focus to #alllivesmatter erases the realities of systemic racism and, in order to deal with that problem, we have to be willing to face it head on. Rev. Daniel S. Schatz’s excellent response to a community member who requested that he take down the “Black Lives Matter” signage posted outside the BuxMont Unitarian Universalist Fellowship is most instructive and really well done.

Widen the circle. We cannot adequately address these issues within the confines of our own understanding. We have to go out and build relationships that can broaden our viewpoints, whether that’s by offering deeper learning within our own faith communities or by partnering with other communities and organizations who care about these issues. And however we widen the circle, we must do so giving primary voice to people of color in shaping the nature of the conversation and the collaboration.

Timothy Murphy of Progressive Christians Uniting’s response to the hashtag #AllLivesMatter as a “theological cop-out.” This article was featured in Clergy and Laity United for Economic Justice (CLUE-LA) newsletter and I thought it was so good it should be quoted here:

“Right now the United States is reverberating with the shouts of voices and the steps of marchers demanding justice for unarmed Black citizens killed by police officers. If you use Twitter, you may have seen the hashtag: #BlackLivesMatter. It is carried on signs and declared in chants. I’ve got a theological newsflash for you: this proclamation is the gospel.

“Good news only can be declared in light of a problem. And the problem is that in far too many instances, our society’s actions reveal that Black lives don’t matter. Extrajudicial killings, police harassment, and intimidation of Black people is a this-worldly anti-gospel. #BlackLivesMatter offers itself as a succinct, holy antidote.

“Some people are put off by such specificity – don’t all lives matter? Isn’t all life sacred? The result is the counter-hashtag popping up everywhere as a critique: #AllLivesMatter. It tries to universalize the answer. While it is a “true” statement, it is also completely irrelevant and contributes nothing as a response to Black oppression. It actually obscures the problem. It forgets that the gospel always addresses concrete problems. The problem is not that everyone is a target of the police; hands are not reaching for weapons when persons like myself, a white man, interact with them. #AllLivesMatter drains the specificity out of the good news. A generic gospel is no gospel at all.”

CLUE-LA’s newsletter also featured writings from Rabbi Aryeh Cohen, author of Justice in the City and board member of hte organization. Read his “Lament for Eric Garner” for your next community prayer.

From my own community, Rev. Rick Hoyt of First Unitarian Los Angeles wrote a compelling response from Los Angeles. You can read more of his writings on his blog here or check out the faith community’s response at their Facebook here. The response below is excerpted from the church Facebook page:

“… What we do know, is that what really lies at the foundation of our anger and sadness, is not the circumstances of Michael Brown and Darren Wilson. But the accumulated circumstances of George Zimmerman and Trayvon Martin. And the circumstances of Ezell Ford, a mentally ill, unarmed black man shot by police in South LA this summer. And the circumstances of Amadou Diallo shot 19 times because New York City police officers mistook his wallet for a gun. And the circumstances of Oscar Grant killed at Fruitvale Station in Oakland when he was on the ground with his hands behind his back being subdued by other officers.

“Because what really lies at the foundation of our anger and sadness is not even the white cops and the black men, not the police abuse and the unarmed citizens, but an entire culture of racial fear and prejudice and guilt.

“Our anger is not about Darren Wilson, whether he personally is a tragic or a culpable figure. Our anger is not about Ferguson. Our anger is not about police procedures, and Grand Juries and the facts of this case.

“Our anger is that we have inherited a culture that is founded on the unequal treatment of human beings based on the color of their skin. And that unwanted inheritance is constantly re-made and perpetuated unwittingly by our every action. We participate in that hateful legacy through our choices of where we live, were we work, who we socialize with, where we spend our money, and what we say, and who we vote for, and where we give our attention.

“This is what Christian theologians call “Original Sin” – a spiritually unhealthy life cirumstance that we are born into rather than choose for ourselves. The evil inheritance of racial fear and prejudice is so built-in to our institutions and systems and structures that when we notice it we are instantly overwhelmed by our inability to change its course and so we mostly choose not to notice it but nevertheless keep on re-making it, day after day. And some days, horrifically some one person like Michael Brown gets crushed beneath it, and every day, just as horrifically but more quietly, an entire community of people gets crushed beneath it.

“We feel guilty, so we soothe our pain by blaming others. We feel prejudice and justify it with myths and stories. We feel fear and make ourselves brave with guns….”

Read more of his response by going here Post by First Unitarian Church of Los Angeles.

Stay tuned for more, or share your own ally and spiritual activist tools. Will continue adding to this or blogging more specific pages of resources as I find writings that can assist spiritual activists with language, prayer, conversation and action tools to address communities of privilege with the grief work and transformation work needed to take real action– to risk their comfort, security and ideology in the creation of a world where the idea that #BlackLivesMatter is an obvious, embodied reality.
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Noticing the Foot

(Photo Credit: Gord Johnson, Ladysmith, BC, Canada)

It is the end of my first Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) unit. Four-hundred hours of supervised spiritual care at LA County Hospital—and I feel as if I am standing amongst the rubble of my life.

It is like a moment from our time in class, told with permission from its transmitter and my colleague, Wally. Wally was sharing an incredible learning story. He had just returned that week from an emergency request to tend to a man that had died and come back to life.

The man was a roofer. He had driven his truck to the landfill to drop off old tiles. Backed his truck in, dumped the tiles, and had stepped out of his truck to ensure all the tiles had been disposed of. As he stepped out, standing at this pile, a plowing truck turned the corner. The truck was plowing the landfill trash to make more room for more dumping and, unbeknownst to that driver, was headed straight for the man, his truck, and his pile of tiles.

Without much time at all, the man found himself swept up by the landfill plow, carried away with the pile of rubble, tiles, baby diapers, dust, leaves, trash. Screaming and yelling, the driver couldn’t hear him. Bit by bit, carried away, the man’s body was compacted by the oncoming trash as more and more came upon him, his screams muffled as his lungs took on the refuse. He was sure he was finished.

Despite that, his upside down body compacted, someone at the landfill saw the plough, saw the trash and noticed something strange—a single, human foot shaking and moving peeping out from the top of the trash. Something was more human about that foot than usual, so the person ran screaming to the plough to stop its motion.

The plough stopped. The paramedics were called. The next thing the man knew, he was staring into Wally’s eyes, coughing up dust, whispering gratitude.

Wally tells us this story, touched by the experience. We are stunned.

To get the words flowing, our supervisor asks the obvious question one would ask after a story like that:

“And where was God?”

Her question, his story, stay with me. I know I have fashioned my life an incredible city—with a mighty landfill. Landfills—our temples to dispensability. Cathedrals to the “its in the past.” Congregations of “I’m over it.” Stained glass windows of what got broken and never restored. Just dump and go—don’t hang around too long. Dump and go. Don’t look. I came to CPE expecting I could go to the dump to drop off my latest dreams and intuitions for compacting and returned unscathed to become an ordained clergy person.

But this time, I didn’t make it back.

And really—who ever does? If we are not caught in the rubble now, when? I was born in 1987—the first year, scientists say, that the earth began to consume more resources than it could sustain. I have been born at a time of unprecedented dumping—the dumping of human lives into Twin Towers County Jail or the human landfill of Skid Row, testimony to our belief that certain lives are more dispensable than others. Each year of my life I’ve lived in the largest cosmic landfill we’ve ever known. And at what point will each of us finally get swept up in our own rubble? What about me? When I have or lose my first child? Lose the last of my parents? When I wake up in a job that I thought was a calling, but was really the closing of other dreams? An illness, a cancer, that puts me in this hospital?

There we are, each of us, caught in the momentum of the rubble of our own lives.

So… where do I see God in that?

As a Universalist mystic, the sacred and profane are one—holy the moment, holy the expanse, holy the plough, holy the paycheck pushing the plough, holy the tiles, holy the diapers, holy the screaming for life.

But for now at this moment, baptized in the rubble of my life, it was and is most profoundly and specifically this:  holy are the story catchers who sit among the expanse of rubble, thoughtfully available, to notice the foot.

Thank you for noticing my foot.

I will leave here to sit, like that thoughtful observer, amongst the rubble of my life and amongst those who see the rubble for what it truly is—the gritty foundation for something more incredible, more true, more honest. The rubble from which life begins again.

This piece written for a closing ceremony of Summer Interfaith Chaplain Interns at LA County Hospital / St. Camillus Center for Spiritual Care in Los Angeles, CA. June 2014.  

A Manifesto (For the Manifesting)

A Manifesto (To Manifest, Change, Adapt, Challenge, Question and Engage)

For those who do not believe volunteers and staff should (always) sacrifice their lives for “the cause.” For those who want to upset the belief that activism is external. For those who want to upset the belief that “Gandhi” and “MLK” and “Dorothy Day” should be our go-to pinnacles of activism. Who ache to overturn the idea that activism comes from altruism. Who want to acknowledge the woundedness activists bring to the work and perpetuate in their organizations and on each other. Who want to upset the belief that time spent in reflection, gratitude or care detracts from the urgency of “the work.” Who want to argue that reflection, gratitude and care are the work and what sustains the work. Who want to upset models of change that fall back on fear and adversarial politics to rouse “support” and “energy” and who want to piss off those who profess to practice activism from within the isolation of privilege.

Who want to connect people who hunger for an activism of wholeness. Who want to ask the deeper questions about why they are activated that go beyond models of sacrifice, perfection/redemption and obligation. Who want to connect people who operate out of their gifts and not out of their (un)conscious wounds. Who want to connect to activists that are wounded and asking questions about it—and how we perpetuate it. Who want to connect with other people who are practicing the world they are activists for, naming the mishaps, sharing the flaws and dialoguing about what is and is not keeping us alive as human beings who live in communities and in families and in relationships. The practitioners. The seekers. The lovers.

This is a site for those who want to co-lead and co-convene. Who want to lead and be led by people who unfold into knowing who they are as they become, who strive to know their wounds, who strive to know their gifts and who help others by practicing wholeness themselves.Who want to lead with other leaders who speak in an authentic voice, knowing the differences between them and not pretending to have the same experience but who carry a common belief—it matters what we’ve experienced, it matters how we’ve been wounded, it matters what our gifts are and it matters how we live and organize in the world.

This is the work. This is a space to practice self-reflection and curiousity. To seek out models of living and working that sustain and generate more life (rather than burn out).

It is possible for our organizations to leave us more alive than when we entered.