I know that there are many people out there rejoicing at McCain's decision to tap Sarah Palin as VP. So let me say up front: I am not one of them. I think that it is pandering of the worst kind. There are many, many qualified pro-life Republic women out there. She isn't one of them. A rising star? Possibly. Someone I would be comfortable seeing lead the United States should a 72 year-old cancer survivor die in office? Definitely not.
I am happy to see a woman on the ticket-- just as I am thrilled to see racial diversity. New narratives are important. That said, I am not voting on narratives. I am voting on issues, voting on directions. I am voting on the nation I see before me and the one I hope to see in four years. That the McCain campaign seems to truly believe that I would pick a pretty working mom because she reminds me of my own struggles or of my mother's balancing acts just proves how much he underestimates women. Might it work? I don't know. Whether it works or not, I find this particular choice insulting. On Thursday, I saw the best of American politics, today I believe that I am seeing the worst.
Reports that John McCain met Gov. Palin only once before offering her the post further fuel my disappointment in this pick. Hey, let's put a woman in there. Doesn't really matter which one. The voters will never notice that she is an anti-choice, anti-LGBT, anti-environmentalist former (very) small town mayor with 20 months of real experience. Don't worry, they'll be so overwhelmed by her winning smile that they'll forget that she is in the middle of her own ethics scandals. National security? Ha. Economic and healthcare solutions? Ha. Foreign policy? Ha. But look at those cute kids and the hunky 'First Dude.' Now that's what's really important.
Hey John, I don't vote for a candidate based on her anatomy.
Saturday, 30 August 2008
Wednesday, 27 August 2008
manual labor
This past Sunday, Alison and I decided to tackle our mini decorating project. A couple of months ago a persistent leak in the flat above us gave way to genuine disaster, flooded our flat, shorted out electricity in half our home (still no light in the bathroom!), and caused parts of our ceiling to cave in. We have been in a battle with the council ever since, but that's another story. We have been wistfully discussing plans for the kitchen and bathroom since the night we came in to discover that our home had been converted to a wading pool. This weekend, thanks to Alison's motivational paint purchases, we decided to attack our project.
Anyone who has ever completed her own home remodeling/decorating project will surely appreciate certain truths about such things: 1) No matter how much you plan, you never have all of the right tools. 2) It will take hours-- if not days or months longer-- than you imagine. 3) Nothing is as simple as it seems. Oh, how painful (no, really, physically painful!) it is to learn such lessons! We set out to strip old plaster and paint from the water-damaged bathroom and kitchen ceilings, prep them, and slap on new paint. Nothing fancy. Ah, if only we had known...
Because I still don't have full function of my shoulders and my neck is totally out of commission, I will refrain from assessing the wisdom of DIY until a future date when my optimism returns. I can say, however, that we managed to strip the ceiling in the kitchen, but not paint it. Having lost the desire to ever even enter our kitchen again, we decided to switch to stripping the bathroom with the logic that stripping everything and then painting was what actually made more sense. (Don't you love the tricks we play on ourselves to keep ourselves going!?!) At 10pm, after having spent twelve hours ingesting and inhaling debris of questionable safety, covered in grime, and incredibly sore, we abandoned ship. Then, we realized that we needed to shower and possibly cook and we would have to clean. Not the highlight of my weekend.
Thank goodness for C-SPAN, though. I have been convalescing at home and feeding my political obsessions with their live internet stream. I don't have a television, so to be able to watch the DNC-Denver speeches live on my computer is amazing. Of course, my mother might disagree. I have been calling her every ten minutes with a comment on one speech or another or with some quip from New York Times opinion pieces. (My other vice.) Unfortunately, this also means that for the last three days and for the next week my London life is officially conforming to eastern time.
So, yes, no comment on DIY until the pride of accomplishment replaces the ache in my back. Thank you to my partner in crime, Alison. Thank goodness for C-SPAN, Skype, and the DNC. Oh, and one more thing: forget Hillary, forget Barack, definitely forget John McCain... can I vote for Michelle?
much love.
Anyone who has ever completed her own home remodeling/decorating project will surely appreciate certain truths about such things: 1) No matter how much you plan, you never have all of the right tools. 2) It will take hours-- if not days or months longer-- than you imagine. 3) Nothing is as simple as it seems. Oh, how painful (no, really, physically painful!) it is to learn such lessons! We set out to strip old plaster and paint from the water-damaged bathroom and kitchen ceilings, prep them, and slap on new paint. Nothing fancy. Ah, if only we had known...
Because I still don't have full function of my shoulders and my neck is totally out of commission, I will refrain from assessing the wisdom of DIY until a future date when my optimism returns. I can say, however, that we managed to strip the ceiling in the kitchen, but not paint it. Having lost the desire to ever even enter our kitchen again, we decided to switch to stripping the bathroom with the logic that stripping everything and then painting was what actually made more sense. (Don't you love the tricks we play on ourselves to keep ourselves going!?!) At 10pm, after having spent twelve hours ingesting and inhaling debris of questionable safety, covered in grime, and incredibly sore, we abandoned ship. Then, we realized that we needed to shower and possibly cook and we would have to clean. Not the highlight of my weekend.
Thank goodness for C-SPAN, though. I have been convalescing at home and feeding my political obsessions with their live internet stream. I don't have a television, so to be able to watch the DNC-Denver speeches live on my computer is amazing. Of course, my mother might disagree. I have been calling her every ten minutes with a comment on one speech or another or with some quip from New York Times opinion pieces. (My other vice.) Unfortunately, this also means that for the last three days and for the next week my London life is officially conforming to eastern time.
So, yes, no comment on DIY until the pride of accomplishment replaces the ache in my back. Thank you to my partner in crime, Alison. Thank goodness for C-SPAN, Skype, and the DNC. Oh, and one more thing: forget Hillary, forget Barack, definitely forget John McCain... can I vote for Michelle?
much love.
Sunday, 24 August 2008
a walk in the park... almost
Today, I went for a walk through Burgess Park, a wonderful expanse of greenery in an otherwise fairly barren landscape. I wanted to clear my mind. Though I am something of an insomniac anyway (it comes and goes) I really haven't been sleeping well in the last 6 weeks or so. Luckily, I have many things to keep me busy in the very late nights/early mornings when I am twitching with energy-- organizing fieldnotes and applications, meditation, creative writing, and transatlantic friends. Still, chronic sleep deprivation wears away patience like nothing else. I've managed to hold onto a relatively upbeat outlook on the world, but when something starts to annoy me these days, it really annoys me. Since patience is the virtue I am trying to work on, when I feel my blood beginning to boil, I have to find something else to do because I really don't want to be reactionary. Most days, yoga or a good workout is my outlet, but today I felt as though I needed something more organic than my gym and so it was off to Burgess.
Now, I have lived in this area for 17 months and in that time I have walked or cycled through Burgess hundreds of times. I've had picnics in the park and gone for runs, practiced yoga and watched the mounted police perform dressage. I've spent a lot of time in the park. I tell you this because today as walked down my typical route, I turned left where I normally turn right and discovered this:
Burgess Park has a pond and I never even noticed! So much for being aware of my surroundings, eh? Now that I have recovered from my shame, I can focus on the wonderful surprise. I love water. It fascinates me, tranquilizes and rejuvenates me. This discovery was exactly what I needed. I'm thinking this spot is going to become a frequently-visited retreat.
As I walked back from Burgess Pond (sorry, still can't believe there is a Burgess Pond) I was stopped by a man and a woman evangelizing on behalf of a local church. The mere thought of street evangelizing may make many of you gag, but living in an area such as this, one becomes accustomed to it. The Camberwell/Peckham area is widely known as an economically depressed and high crime area subject to all of the associated problems that go with such distinctions. Churches provide stability and social safety-nets here much the way they do in vulnerable communities around the world. I usually stop when approached by street evangelists in London and when I am in particularly gracious moods, I even open the door to the door-to-door variety. Like I said, I stop when directly approached. I smile. At that point, they (street evangelism is almost always done in teams) typically ask something along the lines of, "Have you heard the good news?" I am a committed Christian. I am a believer. That opener and all of its various equivalents make me cringe a little. I understand the enthusiasm, which is why I stop instead of breezing by or muttering something nasty under my breath like most people, but there must be a better way to do this.
My intention in stopping is to offer a smile or bit of kindness to people who are routinely cursed and ignored on the streets. I've handed out fliers for campaigns and causes and the typical responses one receives from passers-by are often disheartening. I don't believe that 'selling God door-to-door' as one my dearest friends refers to it, is the best or most appropriate way of sharing faith--actually it is often very counterproductive (more on that in a moment)-- but these are people trying their best and that deserves a smile. So, I smile and reply that I am a Christian, say that I hope they have a good day, and attempt to go on my way. My exits always fail. Sometimes the failures are pleasant. In my experience, young Mormons are typically very exited to hear that someone is a Chrisian. They ask what church I belong to and whether I enjoy living in the area and sometimes inquire as to whether I have any prayer requests before wishing me well and sending me on my way. Most people, however, are not so pleasant. (Ironic, given that of all the different branches of Christianity, my own belief system arguably shares the least common ground with the LDS church.)
What happened today is a perfect example of where it all goes wrong. I was approached. I was listening to my iPod and clearly headed somewhere, but I stopped. I smiled and listened as one of the two people before me asked if I know Jesus. I replied with a broad smile that I am a Christian. At this point the man in this particular team asked whether I pray on a regular basis. I do. Do you read the Bible? I do. I could already see where our conversation was going, but I breathed in deeply and tried to work on my patience. I thought to myself that I would insist on my exit in a moment. Then he asked me where I attend services. This is a more complicated question than it appears to be. In the course of my life, I have, at various times, regularly attended Anglican, Baptist, Methodist, Non-denominational, Catholic, Dutch Christian Reformed, Quaker, and Presbyterian services, in addition to a number of house churches. Recently, for many reasons and after much consideration, I decided to attend a Roman Catholic church in Soho. It was a personal choice. I told the pair before me simply that I have attended churches in many denominations, but I am currently attending a Catholic church. Then it began.
Catholicism is an easy target. I know this. Trust me. I have decided to attend a Catholic church for personal reasons. I am not unaware of the many criticisms of Catholicism or of the problems with the Catholic church. There are many of them. I know this. I am more than willing to discuss faith, in general, or my deeply personal reasons for attending a Catholic church, in particular, when I am asked to, but I think that faith is something that should be lived. We talk about faith too much and put our beliefs into genuine action too little.
Anyway, upon hearing that I am attending Catholic services, the team before me asked a series of questions. Though, I know that they were asked with sincerity their purpose was clear: these questions were meant to crystallize the points of discord between different denominations. I have no problem with discussion, but in my experience this tactic is used to argue that one denomination or a set of denominations holds the key to salvation and other Christians are not, in fact, true Christians. For whatever reason, Christians of all denominations spend a disproportionate amount of time trying to tear each other down. I have read about it in my history books and seen it with my own eyes, but I do not believe that I will ever truly understand this impulse. I have found myself in the situation I was in this afternoon before. Normally when the intra-faith bickering begins, I state very firmly that we will have to agree to disagree and walk away or close the door. Today, for whatever reason, I decided that I actually wanted to share my thoughts on the matter. So, I stood still and alternately listened and vigorously responded.
I will spare you all of the discussion of doctrine and ritual. My central arguments actually had little to do with doctrine because the fact of the matter is that I don't think that whether Christians should practice infant baptism or 'believer-baptism' or whether we should confess to a priest or pray during a walk through the woods or in the solace of our rooms is the point. The aggressive imposition of doctrine and the assumptions about other people's salvation that accompanies is totally ridiculous and, quite frankly, a little offensive. (Yes, this is almost always the next step in the descent of the argument-- even today it was implied that I am not saved because I don't agree with the people I was speaking with about infant baptism and therefore do not understand the scripture and am being 'led astray by false prophets.') Christianity is a religion, yes, and religions are mass movements, but at the end of the day faith and belief are about a personal relationship. We, as individuals, believe or we don't. It is hard to believe in this world. If meditating on the rosary or silent meetings or wild dancing support and foster the deepening and maturity of a personal relationship with and commitment to Christ, so be it. Christians shouldn't spend so much time proving themselves right. It's a form of arrogance and pride. I think it really hurts us as individuals and certainly undermines Christians as a group.
As I mentioned earlier, I live in one of the most economically depressed and highest crime councils in London. There are so many real and tangible needs in this area that it is almost impossible to grasp the scale. (As you can tell, I am drawn to places like this.) The point I stated over and over again to this man and woman as I talked to them was that instead of arguing with me, a Christian, about the relative worth of my denomination, all three of us should be out there 'living lives worthy' of the faith we share, something that to me requires patient and loving service. We shouldn't be tearing each other or anyone else, believer or not, down. We don't save anyone. We certainly don't damn them. What was so radically different about Jesus of Nazareth was that he embodied God's love and power. Now, I believe in a Holy Trinity, but even if we look at Jesus as a teacher, what we would see is that while everyone else was engaging in the empty and draconian enforcement of rules and ritual, Jesus was acting, living his message. Instead of telling people that they should repent and be saved, instead of condemning them, we, Christians, should should repent our own hubris, self-righteousness, and self-importance, surrender ourselves to our faith, and live it. Living our faith, to me, requires more listening, more patience, and whole lot more love. There are many, many people who are suffering in Camberwell and Peckham. There are people who are struggling. There is incredible need. We should be out there, lessening suffering, lending strength, and meeting needs. This was my argument for the people before me in Burgess Park.
After 40 minutes, this pair of street evangelists handed me directions to their church and a dvd sermon and told me that the passion of my words shows that I could still be saved and that when I am ready to truly convert I should come to their church.... oy!
With that I am signing off for now.
much love.
Now, I have lived in this area for 17 months and in that time I have walked or cycled through Burgess hundreds of times. I've had picnics in the park and gone for runs, practiced yoga and watched the mounted police perform dressage. I've spent a lot of time in the park. I tell you this because today as walked down my typical route, I turned left where I normally turn right and discovered this:
Burgess Park has a pond and I never even noticed! So much for being aware of my surroundings, eh? Now that I have recovered from my shame, I can focus on the wonderful surprise. I love water. It fascinates me, tranquilizes and rejuvenates me. This discovery was exactly what I needed. I'm thinking this spot is going to become a frequently-visited retreat.
*****
Now, I feel that before continuing I should warn you that the next part of this post discusses religion. I realize that one should never discuss religion or politics, but if you know me, you know that I love talking about the latter, so... guess I am not big on that rule. I also realize that many of my older posts have discussed my faith. That is not the intention of this blog. I want this to be a place to share with people I love. Sometimes in the past that sharing has involved explicit discussion of my faith, I as write more regularly I can tell you that most times it probably won't. Today, however, I had a run-in that has put my faith front and center and I want to share it with you. If you are totally anti-religion, I understand that you probably don't want to hear about mine, but if you would bear with me, I would be very grateful. If you can't, I send you my love now. Please check back soon. I plan on updating several times a week.*****
As I walked back from Burgess Pond (sorry, still can't believe there is a Burgess Pond) I was stopped by a man and a woman evangelizing on behalf of a local church. The mere thought of street evangelizing may make many of you gag, but living in an area such as this, one becomes accustomed to it. The Camberwell/Peckham area is widely known as an economically depressed and high crime area subject to all of the associated problems that go with such distinctions. Churches provide stability and social safety-nets here much the way they do in vulnerable communities around the world. I usually stop when approached by street evangelists in London and when I am in particularly gracious moods, I even open the door to the door-to-door variety. Like I said, I stop when directly approached. I smile. At that point, they (street evangelism is almost always done in teams) typically ask something along the lines of, "Have you heard the good news?" I am a committed Christian. I am a believer. That opener and all of its various equivalents make me cringe a little. I understand the enthusiasm, which is why I stop instead of breezing by or muttering something nasty under my breath like most people, but there must be a better way to do this.
My intention in stopping is to offer a smile or bit of kindness to people who are routinely cursed and ignored on the streets. I've handed out fliers for campaigns and causes and the typical responses one receives from passers-by are often disheartening. I don't believe that 'selling God door-to-door' as one my dearest friends refers to it, is the best or most appropriate way of sharing faith--actually it is often very counterproductive (more on that in a moment)-- but these are people trying their best and that deserves a smile. So, I smile and reply that I am a Christian, say that I hope they have a good day, and attempt to go on my way. My exits always fail. Sometimes the failures are pleasant. In my experience, young Mormons are typically very exited to hear that someone is a Chrisian. They ask what church I belong to and whether I enjoy living in the area and sometimes inquire as to whether I have any prayer requests before wishing me well and sending me on my way. Most people, however, are not so pleasant. (Ironic, given that of all the different branches of Christianity, my own belief system arguably shares the least common ground with the LDS church.)
What happened today is a perfect example of where it all goes wrong. I was approached. I was listening to my iPod and clearly headed somewhere, but I stopped. I smiled and listened as one of the two people before me asked if I know Jesus. I replied with a broad smile that I am a Christian. At this point the man in this particular team asked whether I pray on a regular basis. I do. Do you read the Bible? I do. I could already see where our conversation was going, but I breathed in deeply and tried to work on my patience. I thought to myself that I would insist on my exit in a moment. Then he asked me where I attend services. This is a more complicated question than it appears to be. In the course of my life, I have, at various times, regularly attended Anglican, Baptist, Methodist, Non-denominational, Catholic, Dutch Christian Reformed, Quaker, and Presbyterian services, in addition to a number of house churches. Recently, for many reasons and after much consideration, I decided to attend a Roman Catholic church in Soho. It was a personal choice. I told the pair before me simply that I have attended churches in many denominations, but I am currently attending a Catholic church. Then it began.
Catholicism is an easy target. I know this. Trust me. I have decided to attend a Catholic church for personal reasons. I am not unaware of the many criticisms of Catholicism or of the problems with the Catholic church. There are many of them. I know this. I am more than willing to discuss faith, in general, or my deeply personal reasons for attending a Catholic church, in particular, when I am asked to, but I think that faith is something that should be lived. We talk about faith too much and put our beliefs into genuine action too little.
Anyway, upon hearing that I am attending Catholic services, the team before me asked a series of questions. Though, I know that they were asked with sincerity their purpose was clear: these questions were meant to crystallize the points of discord between different denominations. I have no problem with discussion, but in my experience this tactic is used to argue that one denomination or a set of denominations holds the key to salvation and other Christians are not, in fact, true Christians. For whatever reason, Christians of all denominations spend a disproportionate amount of time trying to tear each other down. I have read about it in my history books and seen it with my own eyes, but I do not believe that I will ever truly understand this impulse. I have found myself in the situation I was in this afternoon before. Normally when the intra-faith bickering begins, I state very firmly that we will have to agree to disagree and walk away or close the door. Today, for whatever reason, I decided that I actually wanted to share my thoughts on the matter. So, I stood still and alternately listened and vigorously responded.
I will spare you all of the discussion of doctrine and ritual. My central arguments actually had little to do with doctrine because the fact of the matter is that I don't think that whether Christians should practice infant baptism or 'believer-baptism' or whether we should confess to a priest or pray during a walk through the woods or in the solace of our rooms is the point. The aggressive imposition of doctrine and the assumptions about other people's salvation that accompanies is totally ridiculous and, quite frankly, a little offensive. (Yes, this is almost always the next step in the descent of the argument-- even today it was implied that I am not saved because I don't agree with the people I was speaking with about infant baptism and therefore do not understand the scripture and am being 'led astray by false prophets.') Christianity is a religion, yes, and religions are mass movements, but at the end of the day faith and belief are about a personal relationship. We, as individuals, believe or we don't. It is hard to believe in this world. If meditating on the rosary or silent meetings or wild dancing support and foster the deepening and maturity of a personal relationship with and commitment to Christ, so be it. Christians shouldn't spend so much time proving themselves right. It's a form of arrogance and pride. I think it really hurts us as individuals and certainly undermines Christians as a group.
As I mentioned earlier, I live in one of the most economically depressed and highest crime councils in London. There are so many real and tangible needs in this area that it is almost impossible to grasp the scale. (As you can tell, I am drawn to places like this.) The point I stated over and over again to this man and woman as I talked to them was that instead of arguing with me, a Christian, about the relative worth of my denomination, all three of us should be out there 'living lives worthy' of the faith we share, something that to me requires patient and loving service. We shouldn't be tearing each other or anyone else, believer or not, down. We don't save anyone. We certainly don't damn them. What was so radically different about Jesus of Nazareth was that he embodied God's love and power. Now, I believe in a Holy Trinity, but even if we look at Jesus as a teacher, what we would see is that while everyone else was engaging in the empty and draconian enforcement of rules and ritual, Jesus was acting, living his message. Instead of telling people that they should repent and be saved, instead of condemning them, we, Christians, should should repent our own hubris, self-righteousness, and self-importance, surrender ourselves to our faith, and live it. Living our faith, to me, requires more listening, more patience, and whole lot more love. There are many, many people who are suffering in Camberwell and Peckham. There are people who are struggling. There is incredible need. We should be out there, lessening suffering, lending strength, and meeting needs. This was my argument for the people before me in Burgess Park.
After 40 minutes, this pair of street evangelists handed me directions to their church and a dvd sermon and told me that the passion of my words shows that I could still be saved and that when I am ready to truly convert I should come to their church.... oy!
With that I am signing off for now.
much love.
Thursday, 21 August 2008
welcome back
Thanks to an absolutely fantastic makeover by Danielle at Blogs by Danielle (see the link in the sidebar) we're back and better than ever. It's so much easier to write when everything is organized and pretty... not to mention, full of reminders of the reasons I wanted to write in the first place! In any case, thanks to Danielle, I plan on using this baby on a regular basis now. Keep tuned!
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