Healing our disconnectedness

In my worship yesterday, I found myself lingering on thoughts and reflections on the spiritual wounding that occurs whenever I choose to disconnect from someone else.  That choice often is driven by anger, resentment, hurt, shame, fear, etc.

It seems to me, in turn, if I am not intentional about how to go about my own healing, then I can resort to filling that wound with whatever might cover up the original pain--which can include some form of power play or domination over someone else.

When I view the choice to disconnect from a multigenerational lens-- oh my! My ancestors who left their families and homelands behind to come to this land... Those devout men among my predecessors who chose to abide by sexist religious teachings and subjugate women... And my American-born relatives who unconsciously accepted the racist, white supremacist conditioning they were exposed to in this country....

I appreciate reading about the concept of recovery-as-a-journey* as it applies to oppression (racism, sexism, homophobia, classism, etc). I know I am helped, often wordlessly, by reminders that I can "debias" myself and that I can "decolonize my mind."

It will take time, intention, and community building. My socialization into the cycle of pain/disconnection/asserting power started long before my grandparents and I were born; it will take a great deal of time to heal and "recover" from that multigenerational wound.

With recent and current national struggles over marriage equality, voting rights, immigration rights, indigenous rights, climate change, and the movement for Black lives, I am thinking of two more parts of my own cycle of recovery and healing: self-awareness followed by (re)connecting.

Sometimes that reconnection piece involves getting involved in justice work. I am beginning to wonder if justice work is required in order to heal a collective wounding, whether that wounding is named and acknowledged or not.  Examples of justice work include:

• Prison reform/abolition and ending mass incarceration;
• Land return to indigenous communities;
• Wage and employment equity for people of color, and wage equity for women;
• Immigration reform;
• Ending police brutality and providing full accountability for police misconduct;
• Protesting extreme extraction of the earth's resources. 

For me, worship helps me see where I have sinned--where or how I have disconnected from someone, and whether the Way is open, or how the Way might open, if I wanted to reconnect or wanted to repair that wound. The repair will look different if the wound is interpersonal, systemic, or multigenerational.

I have more reflection to do, and more healing.

Thanks for reading me.

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*During the 2016 FGC Gathering of Quakers, an African American Quaker recently shared her ideas with Friends there about "recovery" in relation to oppression.

Encounter at Walgreens

About a week ago, I was going to my local Walgreens. As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed a man lying on his side on the grass that separates the city's sidewalk from the parking area. Then I realized (1) he wasn't just sleeping, he was passed out; and (2) he was Native American.  I parked close by, sat on the grass beside him, and used my voice to try to stir him. Nothing happened. Then I took the risk to tap his arm, to see if that would awaken him. I was relieved that his arm was warm but he didn't stir.

I was clear that I would not be calling the police.

I ended up calling a friend of mine who is Native American, hoping to get his counsel. He didn't answer his phone, though, and I left him a message. A minute later, a group of 5 or 6 Native Americans, ranging in age from 16 to 60, appeared from behind me, and another 2 or 3 employees of Walgreens came across the parking lot toward us. The first group pulled the man to his feet and were able to rouse him back to alertness; the Walgreens workers, including a store manager, thanked me for being there.

After the Walgreens people left, and I was standing there stunned by the sudden appearance of "everyone."  I was starting to back away, to give the group some privacy.  Then the youngest of them came up to me, shook my hand several times over--from a traditional White handshake to a finger-clench one and then something like a fist bump--and ended by saying, "Hey, thank you."

I was so very humbled by the whole thing. And very relieved that no one had called the police.

Dominoes, Matthew 18, and healing as a worship community

Part of my continued absence from the Quaker blogosphere is that my worship community is in need of healing. Like other, more established Quaker meetings, the community can be fragmented when one or more Friends interpret something that's happened as a betrayal, while other Friends interpret "the same something" as acceptable, not problematic, or something that doesn't warrant attention at all.

The sense of betrayal or the experience of sudden disillusionment can be the result of the meeting's taking a stance on practical matters, like how to prioritize its funds--"We should give money to non-profits that are doing important work" vs. "We need to spend money on maintaining the building so we can continue doing important work."

But more often, the feeling of being let down--hard--is the result of some spiritual matter gone awry, especially when it relates to the condition or the implicit sense of covenant community, such as when to set a limit with a visitor who speaks frequently during worship against an historically oppressed group--"We affirm GLBTQ people and we need to prevent this Friend from attending worship because she is saying hurtful and hateful things against them, making our community unsafe" vs. "We affirm that there is that of God in everyone, so how can we obstruct that person from worshiping among us?" is an example I witnessed personally quite a few years ago.

Such conflict and potential schism seem to be the result of two conflicting principles or practices. If we are not careful, we may end up knowingly or not, unintentionally or not, taking sides.

What is more helpful, I have found, is to be disciplined, patient, and even willing--or, just as important, willing to be willing--to live into the discomfort of being caught in the pull between the two.

We must be humble enough to recognize when we don't know and can't know what is needed...

My experience has been that when a critical mass of Friends in the worship community encourage one another to "be cool in [their] own mind" and to "wait in the Light," a third way eventually presents itself. Or sometimes just naming the tension and making explicit the two (or more) things that are vying for our "vote" also makes the tension and conflict easier to bear.

But still, we are human, and not everyone has the capacity to bear that tension and conflict for long. Sometimes, Friends have to step away from the community, maybe for a short break, maybe forever.

Quite some time ago, Friends General Conference published a pamphlet initially titled The Wounded Meeting. It has since been retitled Dealing with Difficult Behavior in Meeting for Worship, more accurately reflecting the pamphlet's content.

That pamphlet was one attempt to provide ideas and options on how meetings might address disruptive behavior--though specifically behavior that might arise during worship. Of course, things happen outside of Meeting for Worship too, and the need for reconciliation and healing is sometimes the result of something that impacts and tears the fabric of the community and the connection among Friends.

Not only that, but also the community has its immediate response to the initial situation, and then there might be a decision made because of that initial response that others then, in turn, respond to. It's like dominoes that topple one on top of another, and we might often feel helpless or horrified as things go from bad to worse. All the more reason to go as slowly as possible...

A recent pamphlet, Matthew 18: Wisdom for Living in Community, looks at the process that is outlined in Matthew 18, puts it in Quaker context, and applies Jesus' advice more broadly than just to what might occur in worship. I've begun reading it and am struck by a number of passages, as well as how frequently authors Connie McPeak Green and Marty Grundy refer to the need for humility, a willingness to be vulnerable.

When there's a tear in our community's social and spiritual fabric, we have to address it. Sometimes addressing it means having 1-to-1 conversations; or a called session; or a set of new policies or explicitly stated expectations; or a meeting for worship for healing; or a combination of all these things; or something else entirely. Some Friends don't want to see new limits put into place; other Friends need those new limits in order to re-establish trust.

And sometimes, we are given Grace and we find our way through the eye of the needle. (I realize I'm mixing metaphors; so be it.)

The work of healing and repairing relationships is messy. It's painful. But when done with much care, it also helps us grow in our capacity to love one another. Connie McPeak Green's and Marty Grundy's pamphlet speaks to this.

Here are a few things that I currently have in my personal Toolbox for Healing, given my own experiences. Some of these might overlap with the Matthew 18 pamphlet, I suppose:

1. Accept the feelings I have, and acknowledge the feelings that others have, too. We can have different feelings at the same time, and no single feeling is more right or better than any other.

2. Seek pieces of the Truth that exist in the stories and experiences of the person(s) who see things differently from how I do. This is different from seeking common ground. We all have a need to be validated for what we experience, and it's a gift I can give to the person with whom I'm laboring if I can put aside my own desire to be "right" and affirm the piece of Truth that exists in the other person's perspective, perception, and experience.

3. Allow for multiple truths to co-exist, even when my logical mind tells me they can't. Lean into the cognitive dissonance that these multiple, co-existing truths evoke.

4. Worship often, and hold the community, myself, and the other people involved in the Light, especially those with whom I disagree.

5. Stay connected as best I can, even though it's hard. Send a brief message that says, at the very least, "I care about what's happened and I'm not in a place yet to talk about it."

6. Ask the people who are hurting what they think might help... and then be ready to provide at least the smallest, most significant portion of it in order to rebuild trust.  This may require some negotiating, if a request is clearly unreasonable. But I need to be low enough to let go of my assumption that I know what is or isn't unreasonable.

7. Ask God to show how I have been unhelpful or have unknowingly carried out harm to others in the situation. Ask God to show me those items in the most gentle way possible. Connie and Marty in their pamphlet take a long look at the phrase "stumbling block" that appears in some translations of Matthew 18.

8. Discipline myself from gossiping, casting blame, sharing someone else's version of what happened. Discipline myself to let the Spirit exercise my own self by saying less and by listening inwardly more.

What's in your own toolbox or that of your spiritual community? What tools have you discarded? What tools do you draw on regularly?

How has your meeting or worship community successfully navigated a potential division or rift? What stories of the Way opening can you share?

Blessings,
Liz

PS. EARLIER RELATED POSTS in The Good Raised Up:

Treasuring one another through difficulty
Qualities of a Quaker worship community

Searching for where to start

I've been reflecting on how easy it is and how hard it is to write a blog post for The Good Raised Up these days.

It's easy because I have had so many rich, Spirit-led experiences as well as heart-wrenching trials since the start of 2011.

It's hard because the experiences I've had between May 2011 and November 2012 have given me a view of American Quakerism that I could not have had until now... of how White we really are... of how invested we unconsciously are as a whole in not examining our own Whiteness... of how powerless and ill-equipped I feel to shine the little glow of Light I may have into some very dark, cobwebby corners...

As a peculiar people in America, we are broken.  We are separated from our brothers and sisters of color in the struggle of their lives.  Maybe not all of us, maybe not each day, but systemically as a people of faith.

So I'm searching for the stories I can share of how I myself have been transformed, of how the Spirit called me to tasks I couldn't have dreamed of--or wanted to do!

In the meantime, the beginning of this TED Talk taps into a reason why, even when we are intently reflecting on the story of the Good Samaritan itself, for example, we can walk right by a person who is in pain.

I have found in the past 20 months that the more humility I practice, the more likely I am to risk moving out of my own comfort zone.  The more I move out of my comfort zone, the more God can use me in unexpected ways.  The more I am used in unexpected ways, the more I learn about the kin(g)dom of God and all who are a part of it.

And that makes me more humble.

Marriage in Minnesota: Humility and the Vote

Wow.  I barely remember how to do this blogging thing.  It's been so very, very long.  According to the archives, in the past 18 months, I've posted 8 times here. And just twice in the past 14 months.  No wonder I feel rusty!

The reason...? Back in May 2011, the Republican-led legislator approved moving a question onto the 2012 ballot, asking voters to approve amending the Minnesota constitution to define marriage as a union only between a man and a woman. ...Some of you maybe heard a little bit about how that all turned out.  If you completely spaced out between November 6-7, here's a little recap:

Three states in the U.S. affirmed marriage for same-sex couples: Maine, Maryland, and Washington.

And one state--the first state out of 32 tries--rejected a proposed change to the state's constitution, that would have singled out a certain group of people in order to prohibit their freedom to marry.  And the state that rejected such a proposal...?  Minnesota!

I have a lot of topics, experiences, reflections, and reasons to hope that I want to share, but I'll be sifting through them and bringing some of them to you here.  A number of you have followed me on Facebook--or had stopped following me, because of the near-singular focus I've had since May 2011.

For now, I'll share this reflection that arose for me toward the end of a recent worship experience.

A week ago Sunday, I went to Quaker worship in the morning.  While sitting in the awaiting stillness, two things were quickening in me.

One was the concept of humility. The other was an image at the end of the film It's A Wonderful Life.

Toward the end of the hour, this particular worship has the custom of opening up the last few minutes for messages that didn't rise to the level of speaking out of the silence but were still on Friends' hearts. I offered something that went something like this:

When all is said and done on Tuesday, Election Day, regardless of the outcome on certain issues--and even is some issues go the way that we as Friends have been working diligently for, such as marriage equality--I will not feel "proud," as in "proud to be a Minnesotan."  I cannot feel pride when I know that so many people in this state have been transformed by the witness that has been made--about marriage, about the lives of our GLBTQ brothers and sisters.

In fact, I myself have been transformed. It's not that I took up this work as much as it has been that this work has taken me up. And I am humbled by that.

I have been on a path that started long before today. It's a path that long before I set foot on it, so many others have walked, and it's a path that long after I have traveled it, so many others will travel it after me.  But being among fellow travelers... has been so humbling.

And as I sat in worship today, an unexpected image came to me, one of the film favorite, It's A Wonderful Life.

It's the scene where George Bailey comes home after his trials and finds reporters and the Bank Examiner. But he is near tears because he has known the love of the entire town and the grace of the Spirit.  And then in rushes Mary, and they are both crying and speaking over one another because of the experiences they have had that evening, from tremendous despair to mountaintop joy.

And then the people of the town start rushing in--friends, neighbors, the cook, the bartender--and Mary and George are overcome by the love, the Presence... the "Power Over All" as some early Friends have said.

This is how I feel this morning. A humility that sometimes has overcome me, recognizing at a deep and wordless level that we are indeed one Holy Family, lifting one another up, and waiting for the Great Shepherd to be known among us...

Blessings,
Liz