Coming Out

Two days of note this week have raised my impatience for the future.  Last night, the Director of the Ziibiwing Center of Anishinabe Culture and Lifeways spoke at our Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Midland about the seven teachings of the Anishinabe (which greatly resemble our seven principles) and on the significance of reframing Columbus Day as Indigenous Peoples Day.  The event was a spiritual experience and gave me great hope for the day when humanity will choose the path of compassion over destruction.  And today is National Coming Out Day, which promotes a safe world for LGBT individuals to live truthfully and openly.

I welcome both of these celebrations. I welcome the opportunity to recognize a gradual shift away from unbridled colonialism, from hatred based on our differences, and from inequality.  I welcome the chance to acknowledge that much work remains to be done and to advocate for a fair and just world.

My frustration lies in our retention of labels at all.  Gandhi is widely attributed to have responded to the question of whether he was Hindu by saying, "Yes I am. I am also a Christian, a Muslim, a Buddhist and a Jew."  I have always admired this quote and have seen it as a path toward an eventual reconciliation of our human differences.

Now, I am not so sure.  The Anishinabe believe that there are four races of humankind - white, black, red and yellow - and that all must exist in order for balance to be retained.  All must learn from each other and understand the cultures of the other.  But, as long as these differences exist, our natural human tendency will be to elevate our race, our culture, or our religion of birth over others - to always hold our birth identities as just slightly "better" or more important than others.

So while I completely support my LGBT brothers and sisters today as they continue their struggle for equal rights and a world without value judgments, I wonder when we will start moving away from our labels.  Because, in the end, every person on this planet eventually goes back to a single source.  And from that source arises all of our unique attributes.  From that one source arises white and black, male and female, gay and straight.  When I say that I am a white, straight male, I deny my human genetic heritage that includes being black, gay, and female.

So, on this Coming Out Day, I am coming out.  I am coming out as human.  I am not only gay or straight.  I am not only male or female.  I am not only white, black, red, or yellow.  I am not only Muslim, Jew, Christian, Hindu, Buddhist, or Unitarian Universalist.

Because in the end, I don't find my joy in life as any of those labels.  I find my joy in life as a human being seeking to find relationship with all sentient creatures and with the universe and with all of existence.  I love you whether you are a man or a woman.  I love you whether you follow the teachings of Moses, Jesus, Muhammad, or Buddha,  I don't care about your appearance, ability, or age.  I love you.

It is true that I enjoy enormous privilege at this moment in time that perhaps enables me to come out more easily than those who do not have the same rights and opportunities as I do.  And I do not want anyone to think I am making light of the hard decision to publicly own any individual identity.  So I will work to be a good ally to all people of all identities until the day comes when we can all rise above all of our identities.  I will work to create a world where everyone feels free to come out, as a human.

Simple Joys of Days Long Gone

Thoreau I ain't.  But I do like the occasional walk through the woods...along an established trail...of a known and manageable distance...as long as the bugs aren't too annoying.  I am far more inclined toward B.F. Skinner's Walden Two than its namesake original.

But I can appreciate nature as well as the next urbanite, so I sauntered off into the untamed wilderness of the Potawatoni State Park forest for a 1.7 mile adventure.  The first surprise was the enormous racket.  From the incessant chip-chip-chip of quite possibly thousands of chipmunks to the munch-crunch of squirrels rotating acorns in their dainty paws, to the blaring warnings of geese aimed at flying interlopers, a cacophony of sounds surrounded me.  Not the least alarming was the occasional thud of a heavy-husked black walnut pummeling its way through the branches.

I wandered up and around the toboggan run, down past a playground and into the Nature Center.  Inside I found a nice collection of turtles (sadly they were missing my favorite spiny softshells from my recently departed Youghiogheny River walks) and a wonderful viewing window displaying a bird feeding station just outside.  Flittering all among the dozen or so stations were sparrows and finches, woodpeckers and nuthatches, and of course the perennial mourning doves.

I continued on down a now less thoroughly paved path back toward the Inn.  I am always amazed at how our minds over time are so apt at categorizing sensory inputs.  I recognized every creature as I spied or heard it rustling through leaves or announcing its presence as I approached. 

Suddenly, I spotted out of the far side of my vision an unusual hopping motion.  I stopped and turned, hoping to determine more accurately its location and cause.  After I few seconds, I saw the hop again and spied a toad.  I imagine it was your basic American Toad, living across lots of states.  I found myself instantly whisked back through time to my childhood, when such finds seemed endlessly plentiful and tirelessly exciting.  I honestly could not remember the last time I saw a toad, but I distinctly recalled the joy I experienced when I discovered them as a child.  I fondly reclaimed memories from deep in my mind's archive of holding their warty, cold bodies in my hand.

I wondered if everyone, no matter how challenging, stressful, or simply awful their youth has similar memories - simple delights that bring smiles to faces and carry away concerns and fears.  I certainly hope so.  I fervently hope that everyone has some trigger back to a time in their lives that was relatively free of cares and scares, of anguish and pain, of loss and betrayal.  I hope you can take a moment today - perhaps even every day - to saunter someplace in your mind where a toad sits waiting for your curious finger to stroke its smooth, bumpy skin.

Does It Get Better?

The It Gets Better Project specifically addresses the question many LGBTQ youth have when they experience bullying and discrimination.  Does this ever get better?

You don’t have to be LGBTQ to ask that question.  You may find yourself in a job that seems to be going nowhere.  Your relationship with parents, children, or significant others may be mired in seemingly endless cycles of misunderstanding and hurt.  There may never seem to be enough money, no matter how hard you save or cut expenses.  It may seem that only destructive behaviors are able to alleviate the stress of your everyday life.

Does it ever get better?

The simple answer is yes, usually things do get better.  But, the complicated answer is that we are human beings – flawed and imperfect.  We live in a world that is unpredictable, filled with random noise and chaos.  And anyone who tells you that life is fair is trying to sell you something.

Does it always get better?  No.  Does it get better and always stay better?  Probably not.  Given the reality of life, then, you may ask yourself, “Why bother?”  You should bother for one simple reason.

TANSTAAFL.  Readers of science fiction writer Robert A. Heinlein know this acronym.  TANSTAAFL means, “There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.”  In other words, the only things worth having in life only come to us through hard work and sacrifice.

Can we go through life without risk, without taking a chance?  Sure.  And in America, one can quite possibly live a perfectly satisfying and safe life without taking that leap of faith, without jumping off that cliff.  But, you won’t achieve the really great things, the “wow factor” in life without commitment, sweat, and compromise.

And compromise is a big one.  By compromise, I don’t mean selling your soul or abandoning your principles.  Compromise means negotiating and constantly renegotiating our covenants with each other – what we promise to others and how we will treat each other.  And in order to compromise effectively, you must identify what matters most to you in life, the things that are non-negotiable.  Everything else is on the table, because in the end, the rest really doesn’t matter as we pursue our goals.

The rest doesn’t matter because all of the really important goals involve other people.  I can’t be the best at my profession without clients for my services.  I can’t be an effective parent, child, or sibling without family and committed partners to make the journey with me.  Unless I seek the life of an ascetic, I cannot be truly happy alone, and no drug can give me that happiness.

Identify priorities, work hard, and compromise.  They will not guarantee success, but they will certainly improve the likelihood that you will achieve your goals, and will certainly make the effort more fulfilling.

Truth and Spontaneity

This morning, I attended a meeting of my cluster ministers, an important part of building collegial relationships and, quite honestly, staying sane.  We began the day with a worship service, which was about excellence.  At one point during the sermon, the leader looked at me and suddenly asked me what I viewed as my strength.

Now, almost any other time, I might have had several answers to that question - answers that I have considered over years of discernment and many hours of reflection.  I am a preacher, teacher and lover of knowledge.  I am a boat rocker.  I am a paradigm shifter.  I am a facilitator and guide.

But, none of those carefully constructed answers came to my mind.  Before I could even begin to think about what I should say, I said, "Being a parent."

Obviously, the events of the past week likely influenced my answer.  My daughter Ashley and her husband Kevin made me a new grandfather of a lovely baby girl, Caitlin Elizabeth Stack.  And my son Tyler got a richly deserved promotion, a just recognition of his hard work and dedication.  It was a banner week for the Liebmann clan and I could not be prouder.  So, I could be excused for having my kids at the forefront of my thinking.

But, I think my spontaneous answer revealed more than I might have suspected.  I was blessed to have tremendous parents and I strove to be the best parent I could be.  And clearly, many parenting skills come in handy in ministry, not to mention many pursuits in life.

• A good parent teaches, but is just an avid a learner.
• A good parent knows when to talk and when to listen.
• A good parent leads by example.
• A good parent is on the clock 24/7/365, but also knows how to have fun.
• A good parent provides opportunities for success and can turn any failure into a teaching moment.
• A good parent loves unconditionally.
• A good parent fosters creativity, rewards imagination, and welcomes a challenge.

So thanks Mom and Dad.  Thanks Ashley and Tyler.  Thanks to everyone who has helped hone my parenting skill set.

Waiting on a Delivery

I sit here, cell phone in hand, waiting for a call. My daughter is now several days passed her due date to deliver my first grandchild and my anticipation is massive. I hate waiting.

But, I love deliveries. I gleefully go to my mailbox every day. My email accounts remain open constantly. I am even a glutton for the immense noise of Facebook updates.

So, this “package” weighs heavily on my mind. While the pressures on a PGK (Preacher’s Grand-Kid) may be mild, I do feel a special responsibility for contributing to her spiritual growth. My own children did not grow up with a minister for a father as I entered the clergy after they set out on life’s adventure as adults. But, this child will grow up with my ecclesiastical influence (albeit from a distance).

I have already dutifully provided some appropriate books for the nursery. And, beyond doing my share of grandfatherly spoiling (that is our primary job, after all), I do expect to plant the seeds of religious thinking in her developing mind.

I realize, however, that the most effective way of influencing others is simply by being the best person I can be myself. And, I must satisfy myself that if I do the best I can as a person, then a little of that will rub off on her. It will take many year, perhaps a lifetime.

I hate waiting.

Crickets in the Basement

The other day, I was reminded of my Unitarian Universalist evangelicalism by a strange sound coming from my basement.  Standing in the kitchen, I heard something I should not have been hearing inside my house -- a loud chirripping from the floor below.  Going down the stairs, the sound was so loud, my ears had difficulty locating it.  A cricket had somehow found its way in and was making its presence abudantly known.

My first thought was that you have picked the wrong place to seek out a lady cricket.  I wondered why the insect would make such a racket, lost in such an unfamiliar environment devoid of familiar plants and night air.  Perhaps it was just sending out sounds like sonar waves, trying to discern its location.  Perhaps it was angrily railing against the misfortune that carried it into a barren land, devoid of friends or food.

More than likely, I then thought, the poor thing is probably just calling out for help.  Panicked, the solidary creature was literally "screaming" for help in the chance that Providence would restore it to its rightful home.  I couldn't help but wonder what the tiny bug was thinking of the books and boxes, the carpet and closets.

My mind couldn't help but wander to all those people out there, lost in unfriendly circumstances, lacking friends and familiar surroundings.  Walking down the street, is the woman I just passed screaming silently for someone to help her?  Is that young man desperately reaching out figurative hands pleading for someone to crasp hold and pull him from his hole?  How many helpless, hopeless persons out there are crying out however they can, praying for their world to make sense.

Our congregations are often wonderful places and those who find their way to our doors are very often rewarded with deep fellowship and lifelong guidance along their spiritual paths.  But how many never see our buildings or hear our messages?  How many never smell the pulpit flowers or feel the touch of a helping hand pulling them toward sanctuary?

The world is filled with crickets in the basement, desperately trying to find a way home.  This coming Sunday is Homecoming for many of our churches.  Our congregations can help people deal with all the noise of their daily lives.  So, listen for the chirps in your life and invite someone to a worship service.  In their own ways, so many people are hoping they will be noticed and offered a hand of fellowship.  A basement may not be a dangerous place, but it is devoid of sustenance and leads nowhere.

Extreme Welcoming

In my travels among different congregations, I have found many healthy, happy churches.  Unfortunately, finding them often takes a good deal of work on the part of the searcher.  We have many wonderful religious communities in our denomination.  But, too often we make the task of locating and entering those communities onerous.

The consequences of our inattention to outreach ministry was struck home to me last week when I attended a local folk music festival.  The odyssey started with driving to the fairgrounds and entering one of the two main entrances.  I shortly found myself facing a barricade with no indication of exactly where I was supposed to park my car.  After crawling around two such obstacles, I found a grassy area with cars and stopped.

Seeing no obvious starting point for the event, I walked over to the main building.  Inside I found an information table and some vendors selling instruments and music.  However, there was no starting place and no obvious location for the visitor to talk to someone about the schedule of events.  In fact, quite the opposite, no one spoke to me, offered assistance, or even said hello.

I walked around the room and was again astonished at the lack of interaction or interest in my presence at all.  When I did talk to people, their interest waned quickly when the realized that I was not "one of them."  And although the posted information indicated that food was available, I found nothing but one small table selling bags of popcorn.

The event could have been very interesting.  Perhaps the group might have engaged me in what could have become a long and fruitful relationship.  Instead, I doubt that I will ever have much interest in the organization or its events again.

It saddens me to think of the many times I have heard similar stories from people visiting our churches.  Knowing how I felt that day, I would never wish that feeling of unwelcome on anyone, particularly someone looking for a religious home.

So, while you may be perfectly happy with your own congregation, take a moment and examine it through the eyes of a visitor, a stranger.  How welcome would you feel?  How would you want to be treated upon entering the space and in the days after?  Are the things you would want really all that extreme, or simply practices that should be commonplace?