Burgers, Doughnuts and Privilege

After a weekend full of church and non-church events, I decided to take my usual day off (Monday) to do some reflecting. I am much too distracted at home to reflect in the intensity that I want to, so I thought about coffee houses that I know. I decided to go to one that I had not been to in years, in fact since a high school date. I remember the place being next to a train station in a quaint neighborhood full of beautiful Victorian houses. "Exactly what I need to relax," I thought.

I arrive at the place that I had in mind after a short drive in the rain and realize that they had changed the name of the venue. That didn't bother me; the surroundings were all as I had remembered them, actually more stunning. So I grabbed my backpack with my laptop and a couple library books in it and went into the venue, which is a very large and beautiful gingerbread-looking house. I very quickly realized that the coffee house of my teen years has turned into a moderately priced restaurant. I also quickly realized that I was under-dressed in my sweatshirt, jeans, and leather jacket. Regardless, I felt the urge to stay so I asked to see a menu. Most things on the menu were out of my price range, but I saw a couple things that I could afford. So I asked to be seated, but in an inconspicuous corner.

The waiter was very nice, but I could tell that she was looking at me as though I were out of place. Who would bring a backpack into a nice restaurant? Regardless, I ordered something simple- a cheeseburger. It came with a side salad (instead of french fries, which was a pleasant surprise). I tried to create my coffee house experience by reading one of my books before my food arrived, but I was too distracted. The walls in front of me featured a beautiful wine rack full of bottles. The crown molding around the ceiling edge and door frames was exquisite. They had really done a major renovation on my coffee house.

I was also distracted by the conversation going on next to me. A couple of women had their daughters with them. They talked about their husbands and the activities their children would go to. They talked about the shame of some parents who wanted to put a margarita machine at the local pool (which is a funny, but not half-bad idea, especially with busloads of screaming children running around). But the thing that struck a chord for me was a comment that came right before they left: "I guess if my husband and I are desperate to go someplace nice, we can come here." I thought, "Desperate, really? Do you really know desperation?"

Before I left, I asked the waiter if there was a local coffee shop nearby. She said that the closest thing would be a large chain bookstore, so I thanked her and left. Using my iPhone Yelp application, I found the closest independent coffee shop and I drove there. It happened to be where I drop off my car after the weekend (I'm renting for the time being), so it seemed all would work out. But when I got to where the coffee shop was supposed to be, a "for lease" sign was posted on the door in front of a large empty room with an empty coffee bar. After I had recovered from my disappointment, I decided I would just go to the local Dunkin Donuts and stay there for a while. As usual, I was welcomed warmly by the Latina woman behind the counter. She took my order and decided that since she thought I was cute, she would upgrade my coffee to a large for free. Nice of her- if she only knew. She winked at me as I sat down to drink my coffee and read.

I began to read but again, I was distracted by my surroundings. I had come to this doughnut shop many times before, but my recent experience at the coffee house - turned - restaurant colored my experience of the doughnut shop. A group of Hispanic laborers (at least as I perceived them) waved "hello." I waved back, smiled, and looked out into the busy street of the suburban city. The supermarket was boarded up with "closed" spray-painted across the sheets of plywood. Across the street, new condominiums stood tall in stark contrast. A group of police officers stood in the parking lot drinking their coffee.

Evaluating my thoughts, I felt conflicted. I very much enjoyed the smoky Grade A beef burger with a fresh green salad and a glass of freshly brewed iced tea (nothing close to fast food). The quaint surroundings gave me a storybook feeling. But I also enjoyed the inexpensive coffee and doughnuts and the down-to-earth atmosphere of working class people. I wondered, "Where do I belong in all of this?"

My first guess was that I should feel more at home among the less privileged. Is that not who Jesus ministered among? Did Jesus not call the poor his friends? But did Jesus not also dine with the rich and direct them also to the Realm of God? Jesus supposedly said, "It is easier for a rope to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the Realm of God." Does this mean that I must entirely give up the goal of acquiring the "nicer" things of life?

Of course, this is not the first time that I have asked myself these questions. But the day presented them anew by presenting a juxtaposition of classes. I think it's no coincidence considering that the largest overhaul of health care in the United States is occurring as I write. I know as I think most people do that the root of the debate over health care is not really about the surface things of health care policy. It is about privilege, power, and class. The fire is fed by misunderstandings about the value of one person's labor over another person's labor. The fire is fed by racism, stereotyping, homophobia, transphobia, and misogyny- all justified in the name of so-called "American values" : work ethic, citizenship, and good ole literal Bible teachings.

It all makes me ill- physically and emotionally. To think that generations of Americans have put their blind faith, not in God, but in the man-made (and I do mean man) hierarchy of class. This hierarchy seems to say, "stay in your place according to your demographic" and "don't dare attempt to climb the ladder of privilege- you will fall" but at the same time, "work hard and you will succeed in life." The mentality is antithetical. It contradicts itself. And in so doing, it keeps the masses in their proper place in society.

There is no easy solution to the problem of unequal distribution of wealth. The causes of poverty are as old as the slave-ships that carried Africans enslaved by Anglo-Saxons to the Americas and the ships that took Spaniards to the native peoples of this once unnamed "new world". To speak of "fault" gets us nowhere. But to speak of care lubricates the wheels of justice.

Wherever we find ourselves in the complex matrix of privilege and power in our society, might we ask ourselves a few questions: What do I feel that I "deserve" and why? Do the children of those less privileged than myself deserve to live without the comfort of more? What does my understanding of my life within this complex matrix have to do with the social Gospel of the Christ? Might I have a better calling than to "throw money at" the problem?

Just some food for thought- whether you prefer the burger, the salad, or the deep fried dough.

Failing

I think it has become known to many people in my life that I am my harshest critic. I hold myself to a high standard and if I fall short of this standard, I take my 'failure' seriously. I have been thinking, rethinking, and over-thinking the intricacies of how I feel that I have 'failed' so far in my ministry career. Not healthy, I know. This is why I have surrounded myself with people who will continually remind me that not even God expects me to live up to my own standard.

But what is most important in this process is learning something important through my shortcomings. Here are my recent learnings and re-learnings:

1) Sermons should not always be explicit moral lessons, even if the topic suggests that it should be.
2) You never know when a sermon you think is a "failure" actually touched someone in a deeply spiritual way.
3) The sermon is not the only message of the Christian worship service. Rather, all that is said, sung, and done carries messages.
4) Admitting my struggle with the Scriptures or with the theological message of the music and liturgy tells the story of my own personal theological viewpoint.
5) I owe myself a lot of grace, especially with how much work I am taking on at once.
6) The so-thought "external" stresses of life actually hit at the core of my spirituality. I am impacted deeply by the "distractions" that I use so much energy trying to ignore.
7) Liturgy is not always a neat and tidy thing.

This last point I have given a lot of thought to lately. One might say from a so-called "high church" perspective that each element of the service should flow easily into the next. But the reality of the matter is that worship, like theater, is never the same twice. As many times as it is rehearsed and thought through, the Spirit lets us trip over our words (or our vestments :) ) in order to remind us to let Her in! From a Freudian slip to a slip on a slick floor, comedy has a place in worship. We are allowed to mess up in church without embarrassment because we do not need to act like we are any more "perfect" (which is an incredibly subjective concept anyhow) than God made us. In fact, we are whole and "perfect" as we are with our mistakes, slips, accidents, misdeeds, and such in the mix of our lives.

Now, can the preacher accept this message and give himself a bit of slack? We'll see :)...

And what is the queer point of all of this? Expectations come from many directions in life. Parents expect their children to honor them in their behavior. Congregations expect their pastors (and members) to reflect their values and mission in all they say and do. Our country expects us to be good consumers who keep the economy flowing through spending. Our lovers, partners, and spouses expect us to 'be' a certain way in public. Amidst all of these complex expectations, what does God expect... or require of us?

What comes to mind is Micah 6:8, " God has told us what is good. What God requires of us is this: to do what is just, to show constant love, and to live in humble fellowship with our God" (TEV). God's queer expectation of us often has very little to do with the expectations of the world. Perhaps the question I should be asking myself is, "In worship, do you preach justice, demonstrate constant unconditional love for all, and reflect a humble spirituality?" The Good News is this: even if the answer is "no," at any given point in time, there is a wideness in God's mercy and God's grace knows no end.

In the words of Alanis Morissette, "You live, you learn."

In The Beginning...

Upon the request of friends, elders, mentors, and my own subconscious, I have decided to start a blog. My fear however is that this will become one more task to fulfill as often as I try to discipline myself to write. So knowing myself, there will be weeks where I will post every day and there will be weeks when nothing is posted at all. I'm too much of a rebel to have unnecessary homework after too many years of completing seemingly pointless assignments against my will. Can you tell I'm a stubborn Taurus? :)

So the purpose of this space will be for me to share the joys and the struggles of ministry in this first year out of seminary and perhaps in the years to come. There is much to be learned and much to reflect on. Just be warned- I name this blog Queer/Christian Musings intentionally! My thoughts and feelings are often abrasive, cynical, angry, and straight-out uncouth. But fear not, these feelings are not directed at you (per se...). They are directed at the unjust matrix that Western society has painstakingly built over the past few centuries- the matrix that I did not choose to be born into, but that I choose not to leave. Rather, I choose to do my best to, as Jesus of Nazareth, live a lifestyle fit for a citizen of the "Realm of God."

Here now is the evidence of the struggle...