Principled Retreat

~ Deb ~ Leave a comment

How much room should we give people who hold and express principles that violate our own?  

This sounds like an easy question, but like most things worth discussing,it can be more abstract.  What do we mean by “room”? Which people, exactly? How dramatic are the differences in principle? Do we have any hope in being a positive influence on one another? 

What about the co-worker who holds political opinions you don’t care for? No biggie.  Give a wide berth, don’t talk about that stuff at work, smile and nod.  Easy peasy. 

But what about the dear friend whose position wasn’t known to you while you were building what felt like a promising relationship, and then out of their mouth comes an intolerance that is at first stunning and then quickly evolves into a true conundrum?  Where’s the deal-killer line?  What are you willing to put up with?  When does your presence become a silent approval?  It’s hard to have a dear friend that you have to treat like an office co-worker with certain topics off-limits.  That seems to inherently limit the friendship. 

Everyone has to determine the line for themselves, but I believe some important considerations can be helpful guides. 

The first consideration is around harm and safety.  Obviously, if it feels unsafe, hightail it on outta there.  

The second consideration concerns the capacity for dialogue.  Are you able to have worthwhile and meaningful dialogue around this subject with your friend?  If not, well, how delicately do you want to have to dance every time you see them? 

The third consideration is your own energy.  You have the right to protect it, and if the friendship is becoming energetically exhausting for you because of this conflict, then you might need to step back.  

There is a fourth consideration I want to add that is especially important to me — if any of these would apply to a person not present, consider how important your advocacy role is to you.  For me, the line has always been clear.  If someone maintains a position steeped in bigotry, misogyny, homophobia, xenophobia, or racism, I don’t share space with them. Period. 

James Baldwin once said, “We can disagree and still love each other unless your disagreement is rooted in my oppression and denial of my humanity and right to exist.”  I would add that we can disagree and still love each other unless your disagreement is rooted in anyone’s oppression, the denial of anyone’s humanity, or the denial of anyone’s right to exist. 

My approach may not work for everybody, and it’s probably a good thing it doesn’t.  We need people who stay in the fray and have the argument.  We need people who ease folks around to a new idea without being so absolute.  I appreciate those folks.  I need them because I can’t be them.  

But I’m an Aries.  We’re weird that way. 

Religion Feng Shui

~ Deb ~ Leave a comment 
A friend says, “I’m practically
allergic to organized religion,” 
and I nod in solidarity and
sisterhood.  I joke, “I'm
far more comfortable with
disorganized religion.” 

Then I go home and check 
Merriam-Webster because English
professors do that a lot more
often than you might think, and it
tells me that religion is “an organized
system of religious attitudes, beliefs,
and practices,” and I realize that 
“organized religion” is redundant.

It doesn’t impact my friend’s
position, but my standup routine
has to change.  I’m not comfortable
with religion period.  I’m not comfortable
with the idea that moral behavior
can be organized into a list of 
dos and don’ts. I’m not comfortable
with the intentions of a singular
creator being known and owned by
this or that hierarchical, patriarchal,
oligarchical, pseudo-monarchical 
“non-profit” organization. I am not
comfortable with any one way being
determined the arbiter of sacredness,
the magistrate of love.  

So once again, since it came
up, I check the layout of my
philosophy.  I rearrange the furniture
of my creed.  I tweak the angle 
of my theology and take residual 
dogma out with the trash. I remember
again that the only value in any of it
is the degree to which it reminds me
of who I am, the freedom with which 
it allows life to flow like a breeze
or a river or a bird gliding on energy
unseen by a physical eye but
undeniable in the experience
of the flier. 

It was still funny, though.

Reverend — More or Less

~ Deb ~ 1 Comment

I hold the title of Reverend because of my studies with a seminary.  I use this title in my work as the community minister of Many Paths Spiritual Center in Goodlettsville, TN.  It is a title that has some legacy for me.  

My father was a minister. And my grandfather, and my uncle, and three of my first cousins.  Although there is some variety in the denominations represented in my family, for those I just listed, the title Reverend means that they are ordained to be a Christian pastor in a Protestant Christian denomination.  

I am not a Christian.  My deconstruction began in my 20s and has continued now for four decades.  That process included, as it does for most people, deconstructing the language of religious heritage.  I had to rethink heaven, hell, god, sin, salvation, baptism, and pretty much every word contained in the Christian Bible.  One of those words is “reverend.”  

If we go back to the font of all knowledge, the dictionary, we read that “reverend” is a title given to a member of the clergy, and if we look up clergy, we see that this refers to someone ordained to perform pastoral duties in a Christian church.  So why do I, a non-Christian, who ministers to an interfaith community with a diverse array of spiritual paths, use this word?  

Well, first, I earned it.  I graduated from the ministerial program at All Faiths Seminary, and my successful completion came with the earned honorific of “reverend.”  

Second, I perform the duties of ministry.  I speak every Sunday at 11:00 a.m. to a group of amazing souls with whom I am privileged to share the journey.  I listen to congregants’ personal stories and offer what words of comfort or encouragement I have to give.  I will pray with them or for them.  I carry their hearts in mine and do my best to always be a source of compassion, acceptance, and love.  

Third, other words don’t seem to work.  I am not a priest or a rabbi or an imam or a lama or a guru or a shaman.  I haven’t earned those titles.  Also, I’m sensitive to the potential for cultural appropriation which might unnecessarily offend.  I might like being a rabbi or a guru, but I was raised culturally Christian, and those words belong to other traditions more naturally.  If I traded in “reverend” for anything, I suppose it would be “teacher.” 

Fourth, sometimes a Reverend is just what a congregant needs.  I love the people with whom I am in spiritual community.  I consider them friends.  But I always want them to know that they can come to me and say, “Deb, right now I need my minister.”   

I had to reframe and reclaim a whole lot from my religious upbringing.  I had to decide what could stay and what HAD to go.  Jesus stayed.  Christianity, or what it has become over time, that went. Love stayed.  Judgment went.  Inclusivity stayed.  Exclusivity went.  

I thought the family business of ministry would be a casualty of my deconstruction as well.  And then the path I followed led me back to something that felt familiar and also brand new.  I don’t preach.  I don’t convert.  I don’t insist anyone follow a specific path.  But I do minister, and I feel the responsibility of that calling as a beautiful and joyous burden to carry through this life.  

Reverend Moore was my father, and Reverend Moore is me.  Or as my congregants call me — Rev Deb.  The man my father was would be appalled at the Reverend I am today, but I believe the version of him that now exists only on a spiritual plane might just be smiling.  

Volunteer Flower

~ Deb ~ 1 Comment 
A volunteer of green clings to
the edge of the sidewalk
at an out-of-the-way place
the weedeater may miss
long enough to sink roots
deep enough to support
the flower. 

The seed was planted in
mystery without intention
or design but still somehow
managed to land in a 
spot conducive to growth,
just enough soil and water
for life. 

And now the decision,
to let it remain and do
as it will, to attempt a
transplant into an 
established bed, to dig
a whole new bed around it,
or kill it. 

The latter is inconsistent
with my soul, the new bed
is a commitment not yet
called for, the transplant
is risky and could cause 
its death, and so, for now
it remains. 

As is, growing in the squeeze
of pavement, bringing 
beauty to a barren place,
offering itself just as it is,
just where it is, to help
joy flower in a heart 
craving joy.

Flowers fade, but some
come around same time
next year, returning
again and again to a
spot that welcomes it,
volunteering again and again
to blossom anew.