Hope Springs Eternal

Nine days until Spring and our third blizzard in ten days is about to hit.  In New England we pride ourselves on our ability to endure.  But truth be told, this winter is stretching the patience of the most hardy among us.

Yet there are signs of Spring all around.  In my backyard the call of newly migrated birds greet me.  Even in the midst of the storms, the birds are busy building nests and looking for a mate.

Waiting for a blanket of snow.

In my garden tulip bulbs planted last Fall are emerging.  Tomorrow they’ll be blanketed by up to a foot of snow.  The snow however won’t last.  The tulips will continue to rise and perhaps in time for Easter, break into bloom.

Spring we know is both a season and a metaphor for what ails us.  Watch the news and listen to the most recent political pronouncements and it’s enough to believe that sanity and hope is lost.

Yet Spring is coming despite another snow storm and despite the craziness in Washington D.C.  As a person of faith, I believe that the Spirit is always at work, preparing the way for that which is life-giving.  Theologians have a term for this prevenient grace, the deep-seated belief that there is more going on than meets the eye.

Underneath the fear mongering of politicians and the seeming complacency of so many, the Spirit is at work.  Alison my friend and a rabbi, reminds me that the creative breath, ruach,  that brought the cosmos into being continues to be at work.  In my Christian tradition we speak of the Holy Spirit, God’s own breath being breathed into creation including regular folk like us.

This is all to say that chaos, injustice and despair will never have the final word.  Soon the big storm will come with a forecast of high winds and deep snow.  But underneath the snow the tulip grows.   Praise be!

 

 

Refusing to be Silent

Fabiano de Oliveira, a Brazilian man detained by immigration officials, was allowed to come home.   Karah de Oliveira, his wife, found out around 2:30 p.m. Friday that he was being released, when her husband called from the Plymouth County Correctional Facility, the maximum security prison where he’s been for the past month.

The family, who lives in Beverly, MA, were reunited at the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) office in Burlington, Massachusetts on Friday night. It was the first time Fabiano was able to hold his wife and their five-year old son.  The family is reunited as Fabiano goes through a legal process, hopefully resulting in permanent residency.

The de Oliveira family live in the city I call home.  Fabiano’s story is that of countless others.  He left poverty in Brazil in 2005 and came with the dream of making a better life.  He worked hard to send money back to his family.

He and Karah (a life long resident of Beverly)  met in 2010 and married in 2016.  They have a child.  Fabiano has worked hard, paid taxes, kept out of trouble.

By all accounts he is a loving family man, a good employee.  The kind of guy you’d be happy to have as a neighbor.

The only problem is he lacks the proper documents.  This makes him illegal in the eyes of the Trump administration and resulted in his arrest and detention for the last month.  Arrested ironically when he went to an ICE office to fill out paper work for legal status.

That he was released is great news.  But the reality is that tens of thousands of others with similar stories remain incarcerated.  Most like Fabiano are loving parents, hard workers, good neighbors.  The truth is that the rate of criminal activity is far lower for undocumented immigrants, than those of us who are citizens.

On Saturday a dozen of us gathered at the ICE office in Burlington for a prayer vigil.  We had heard that morning that Fabiano had been released.  Our vigil continued for those who remained incarcerated.

Imagine our surprise when Fabiano and Karah showed up to say ‘thank you’ for supporting them and ‘thank you’ for continuing to stand with and for other families  being torn apart by the current immigration policy.

It has been said that the nation we become is determined by regular citizens like you and me.  We stand vigil for those who are most vulnerable.  We refuse to be silent.  We refuse to be complicit with an unjust immigration system.

America has always been as much an idea as a place.  A place where if  people work hard and respect others, they find a welcome.

Mr.Trump is putting in place an infrastructure of prisons and an increase of ICE officers, that will result in a more than doubling of those detained or deported by the end of 2018.  The capacity for annual arrests and deportations will soon reach 540,000.

Each of these numbers has a face.  Each has a story.  Each life detained and deported has a ripple effect that affects countless others.  That tears at the fabric of a community.

Here in the small city of Beverly, Massachusetts, we got a taste of what this ruthless policy looks like. It was visited upon one of our own families.

That enough of us stood up and said ‘no’, ‘not in my name’ gives me hope.

The nation we become requires constant vigilance and persistence.   There are many more families who look for people of conscience to stand with them.  To stand up for the American dream.

In the Company of Dreamers

I spent this week attending a conference on immigration hosted by PICO http://www.piconetwork.org  We gathered as a faith-based group of 110 activists from 13 states working for humane immigration reform.

Several workshops were led by Dreamers.  The Dreamers I met are educated young people,  who move effortlessly between English and Spanish.  Each is deeply committed to the values that we as a nation aspire to: Hard work, family, faith, responsibility to community, respect for others.

I heard their stories.  Listened to their hopes and dreams.  I heard too their fear of being deported, of being separated from family and friends.  Of being forced to return to a land they don’t know.

I was inspired by Jennifer who came to this country at thirteen years of age.  Her parents crossed the border without papers, fleeing violence and poverty in Honduras.  In the eighteen years since, she graduated from college, has a full-time job, pays taxes and is raising two beautiful children who are U.S citizens.

Jennifer is a Dreamer. One of the 800,000 who were brought to the United States by their parents as children.


In 2012 President Obama, as a result of Congress’ inability to act, passed an executive order (DACA) giving them temporary legal status (renewable every two years).  DACA allowed these young people to go to college, get a job, serve in the military.   They became known as ‘dreamers’.

In September 2017 President Trump rescinded that order.  As of March 5th 2018 the Dreamers will lose their protection and be subject to deportation.

In the meantime, the Republican led Congress is playing a cruel game.   Dreamers are used as pawns for their political maneuvering.

In recent days Republicans led by President Trump, Mitch McConnell and Paul Ryan have become more hard line.   They’ve tied the fate of the young people to further militarization of the border with Mexico,  further restrictions on immigration and an increased budget for deportation.

The budget includes adding beds in detention facilities.  Their goal is to increase from the current 39,000 beds nationwide to 51, 379 beds by the end of 2018.  Each bed on average is used by ten individuals over the course of the year.  As a person is detained and then deported it frees up the bed for a new detainee.

Do the math and the goal of ICE is to ramp up to 513, 790 deportations per year (double the average in recent years).  Each of these 513, 790 people have a name. Each has a story.  Each has a dream.

One of those names at risk, is my friend Jennifer and her two children.

It’s been said that ‘the one who controls the narrative, has the power‘.  Mr. Trump and his supporters cast immigrants in the most negative way.  He has referred to brown and black immigrants as coming from ‘shithole countries’.  He whips up a crowd saying that ‘Mexicans are rapists, murderers and drug dealers’.

This narrative is racist and fear based.

But I believe in a different narrative. That the United States has always been more than a place on the map.  We are a country of ideas and ideals to which we aspire.  One of those ideals is that we are a nation of immigrants.  That we make room for people of all backgrounds, who aspire to work hard, raise a family and contribute to the overall good. 

A new friendship, Kent and Ruben. Kent was born in the United States. Ruben in Haiti. Both call USA, home.

 

This is the story I believe in. This is the story that makes America truly great.  This is the story I will stand up for.

How about you?  What story do you believe in?  What story will you tell?

Each generation must decide which story we believe in.  Which ideals we will live by.

 

 

 

 

 

Getting Ready for the Big Storm

People are fascinated by talk of a BIG STORM. The weather professionals heighten our anticipation giving us a step by step breakdown of the storms impending arrival. We rush to the store for milk, bread and batteries.

Those of us with miles on our odometer hearken back to the ‘Great New England Blizzard of 1978’.   The ‘Blizzards of 2015’ which dumped nine feet of snow on our coastal town remain a vivid memory.

Blizzard of 1978

Storms have a way of bringing people together. In many ways it brings out the best in us. We check in on our neighbors, help out strangers.

Storms also highlight the precariousness of neighbors living on the streets.  I’ve been thinking about two friends in particular, Earl and Lyle (not their real names).  Earl is an alcoholic active in his addiction.  Lyle wrestles with mental illness and  self medicates with alcohol and drugs.

Earl and Lyle come to the church I serve for a hot meal, use the rest room or warm up in the hallway.  We’ve gotten to know one another.  I’ve learned about their past, their struggles, their hopes for the future.  I’ve come to see them as brothers, each of us doing our best to get by.

Tonight as I often do, I worry for their safety.  We have a limited emergency shelter system here on the North Shore.   Most shelters are ‘dry’, which means they won’t accept a person like Earl or Lyle if drunk or high.  The one ‘wet’ shelter for the most fragile of the fragile is full.

On this eve of the storm I’ll offer a prayer for my homeless sisters and brothers.  I’ll offer a prayer for city workers who plow our streets and first responders who do their best to keep us safe.  A prayer too for those who staff our shelters.

Tonight weather experts tell us the BIG STORM will come.  In the days following the temperature is forecast to plummet down to the single digits.

My hope is that we will take good care of each other.   My hope too is that we will recommit ourselves to strengthening our fragile social service safety net.  It will require an ongoing commitment and collaboration of faith communities, non-profits and government.

This storm will pass.  The need to take care of each other continues.

When Lost in the Woods

My friend Harper is four years old.  Yesterday after a worship service at church, Harper sought me out.  She came up to me with a solemn look.  I knelt down so we were at eye level and I asked:  ‘Harper, what’s up?’

Let me pause for a moment and say that Harper is a very wise soul.  She lives fully in the moment.  You know when she’s happy, frustrated or sad.   With Harper you don’t need to guess at what’s going on.   She’s honest, kind and fully present.   I have a lot to learn from her.

On this day she had a piece of paper to give me.  Her voice had a hushed and serious tone: “Kent, this is for you.  This is for when you are lost in the woods.  It’s a map so you can find your way home.”


Her words have stayed with me.  I don’t know about you but there are times when I feel lost.  Times when the darkness of the forest (metaphorically and literally) seems to hem me in and I don’t know which way to turn.

Harper wanted me to know that there is hope when I feel lost.  That I have a friend who cares about me and who has my back.

Who do you turn to when you are lost?  Who has your back when you feel overwhelmed by life?  What map do you use?

Harper reminds us that our hope is close-by.  It’s in the seemingly small expressions of kindness that remind us that we are known, loved, remembered.

On that same morning, my friend Mylinda Baits was leading a workshop at church.  She is a missionary who walks alongside people who have escaped human trafficking. https://internationalministries.org/teams/45-baits .

Mylinda draws upon resources from a program called First Aid Arts http://www.firstaidarts.org  Through art therapy she helps those victimized by unspeakable violence to find  their way toward healing.

In the workshop, Mylinda offered us a taste of her approach to accompaniment.  She asked each person present to introduce themselves with their name:  ‘My name is Kent and I am here to be seen, to be heard and to be honored.’ The twenty people present responded: “Kent, we see you, we hear you and we honor you.” And I responded, ‘I am here’.

Mylinda and Harper both understand that sometimes we feel lost.  It’s part of being human.  They understand too that finding our way home, comes as we let each other know that we are cared for, that we have each other’s back, that we are known.

Being seen, heard and honored is a gift.  On that Sunday at our church on Cabot Street we were reminded that we belong to each other and to a God who created each of us in God’s own image.  Perfect and worthy. A place of the heart to call home.

Harper, ‘thanks for the map’.

 

Immigrants, Refugees and Undocumented, Oh My!

‘Immigrants, Refugees and Undocumented, Oh My!’  Grabbing a line from the Wizard of Oz we are living in a troubling time.  Especially if you are a new immigrant or refugee and God help you if you’re undocumented.

Using a time-tested technique, President Trump and minions play the  anti-immigrant fear card to advance their political agenda.  But this is nothing new.

“New immigration” was a term from the late 1880s that came from the influx of Catholic and Jewish immigrants from Italy and Russia (areas that previously sent few immigrants).

Nativists http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nativism_(politics) feared the new arrivals lacked the political, social, and occupational skills needed to successfully assimilate into American culture. This raised the issue of whether the U.S. was still a “melting pot,” or if it had just become a “dumping ground,” and many old-stock Americans worried about negative effects on the economy, politics, and culture.

 Immigration 1930 to 2000:

Restriction proceeded piecemeal over the course of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, but immediately after the end of World War I (1914–18) and into the early 1920s, Congress changed the nation’s basic policy about immigration.

The National Origins Formula of 1921 (and its final form in 1924) not only restricted the number of immigrants who might enter the United States, but also assigned slots according to quotas based on national origins. It essentially gave preference to immigrants from Central, Northern and Western Europe, severely limiting the numbers from Russia and Southern Europe, Africa and declared all potential immigrants from Asia unworthy of entry into the United States.

Underneath it all was a desire by those already here to keep America as they knew it.  Essentially ‘white’.

This specter of racism and fear of ‘the other’ has been a reoccurring theme in American history and is once again being played for all its worth by ‘nativist’ like President Trump, advisor Steve Bannon and Attorney General Jeff Sessions.

The antidote of course is building relationships with immigrants, refugees and undocumented neighbors.  In the past two weeks:  An undocumented refugee from Congo (who fled a war) walked into my office to ask me to pray with him.  He spoke of his fear of being deported, separating him from his wife and two-year old son (both of whom are US citizens).

I spoke with a young couple from Brazil who are here on a temporary visa but want to stay and take care of her ailing father who is a US citizen.  And, while my car was being serviced I spoke with a young legal immigrant from Egypt who pumped my gas.  He told me of ongoing insults shouted by passing motorists, calling him a ‘f***ing towel head’ and ‘go back where you belong’.

Such are the stories of  immigrants and refugees that are our neighbors.  ‘Nativists’ would have us believe that they are to be feared, that they are not like ‘us’.

The problem however, is that I’ve gotten to know their names.  Listened to their stories.  Discovered that they want the same things you and I want.  Safety and opportunity.  Their family to be healthy and happy.

Despite  prejudice and hateful rhetoric immigrants and refugees still see the United States as a refuge a place to make dreams come true.  They see what is best in us as a nation…even when we forget.

What is needed is meaningful immigration reform. Something that Congress has resisted since last initiated by Ronald Reagan.

What is needed is the wisdom of a Moses:

‘Do not mistreat or oppress a foreigner, for once you too were foreigners in Egypt.” ~ Exodus 22:21

Love Has No Walls

I serve a downtown church in a small city.  The building is brick and situated on a busy main street.  We are surrounded by a variety of small business’ and residences.  Cars and people pass the church at a steady clip.

For most the church is a familiar fixture.  That which is familiar can also be invisible.  How many of us walking down a familiar street take the time to really look?  My guess is that First Baptist Church in Beverly is such a familiar fixture on Cabot Street, that most simply walk past.  https://www.fbcbeverly.org/

The invisibility of the familiar is a fitting metaphor for the plight of religious institutions in today’s culture.

New England as a whole is rapidly becoming more secular.  This is particularly true for those under 30 where fully 1/3 have no religious affiliation.  This trend is projected to continue. http://www.pewforum.org/2012/10/09/nones-on-the-rise/

Yet the same studies show that the majority of those who say that they are ‘not religious’ also self identify as  ‘spiritual’.  By spiritual people refer to a sense of openness to that which is greater than oneself.  A desire to connect to that great Mystery some call God/Creator/Spirit and a desire to find meaning in community.

Recently our church started an initiative ‘Can we chalk?’  The idea is to bring the messages of love and encouragement (rooted in our faith) to the wider community. A box of large chalk is at the entrance to the church inviting people to write on the side-walk words of love and encouragement.

What wasn’t expected is that people began to write words of love  on the brick façade of the church building….At first the messages were in small script

 

Gradually the words became bigger, bolder.   One person wrote: ‘Love Has No Walls’.  Surely this is a message for our time.

I think of President Trump’s promise to build a wall between Mexico and the USA….Israel’s wall between themselves and the Palestinians…The wall that separated East Berlin from West Berlin during the Cold War.   Such walls are ugly and built on fear.  Yet, a passerby took up the invitation of the church and offered a message of hope.

 

Then the messages got even bigger.  A homeless neighbor took it upon himself to create a large mural offering words of love and support.

Such expressions haven’t been appreciated by everyone.  For some  drawing upon the church building is unseemly.  A distraction from the simple beauty of the building. Nothing more than graffiti.

I understand their point.

I think there is an element of discomfort with losing control of our message.  We invited church members and neighbors to take us up on an  offer to spread messages of love on the sidewalk and they did.  But then the messages morphed onto our walls.  We didn’t expect that.

Our space has become unpredictable.

We are no longer invisible.  Each day people stop to read the messages.  Some take photos.   We’ve initiated conversation in the wider community.

‘Can We Chalk?’ as a public art project was not intended to be permanent.  Soon  the side-walk art will be washed away by rain and eventually the walls will be cleaned too.

But I hope we as a church take away an important lesson.  A lesson taught by the early Church in the Book of Acts in the first century.  That the church of Jesus Christ is not intended to be contained or constrained by bricks and mortar.

The church is to be a living, breathing community that goes out into the community to offer healing, hope and love.  To  listen and learn.  To build bridges not put up walls.

Loving in such a way is unpredictable.  Love takes us from the comfort of what is familiar and brings us to a new level of intimacy and engagement with our community.

In doing so we find that we are no longer invisible.  This is Good News.

 

Friends for Life

I’m still recovering from a four-day adventure known as ‘Loonapalooza’.  This annual trip to Loon Mountain brings together a core group of childhood friends. We gather to ski, tell stories and share belly laughs.

All of us recently turned 60.  We’ve lived long enough to know that friendship is a precious gift.  We recount exploits of our wayward youth, while being grateful that we continue to add new adventures to our memory bank.

Left to right: Rob, Clyde, Kent, Frank, Dave, Tom

Together we’ve raised children, built careers, dealt with health concerns and lost loved ones.  When we get together we don’t take it for granted.  We can still revert to Junior High bathroom humor.  Yet, we also easily move into the deep water to talk about what’s really going on in life.  The older we get the deeper and more honest our friendship becomes.

I was thinking about this when I came across an article in the Globe Magazine entitled: ‘Where Have All The Guys Gone?’ by Billy Baker.   The article points to studies that many middle-aged men face a loneliness crisis.  https://www.bostonglobe.com/magazine/2017/03/09/the-biggest-threat-facing-middle-age-men-isn-smoking-obesity-loneliness/k6saC9FnnHQCUbf5mJ8okL/story.html

The article points out what we men know.  We become busy building a career,  raising a family and oftentimes find that our connection to friends and the emotional comfort provided, falls by the wayside.  As a result we feel isolated.

A recent study by Britain’s University of Oxford presented results that most guys understand intuitively:  Men need an activity to make and keep a bond.  At the risk of over generalizing, women are generally better at making a social connection by talking and sharing, while men need a task around which to gather.

Richard Schwartz co-author of ‘The Lonely American: Drifting Apart in the Twenty-First Century’, offered this interesting comment: ‘Researchers have noticed a trend in photographs taken of people interacting.  When female friends are talking to each other, they do it face to face. But guys stand side by side, looking out at the world together.’ http://www.oprah.com/omagazine/The-Lonely-American-Book-Review

When I look at photos of our ski trips going back over thirty years, we are indeed ‘looking out’ at the world together.

The task of planning for a trip and skiing a mountain is the setting within which we renew our ties.  This past Saturday we skied with a temperature of 5 degrees below zero with wind gusts of 3o miles per hour.  Later that afternoon we savored our survival over beers.  More stories to tell.

The magazine article points to statistics that those who nurture friendships live longer, happier lives.  The answer to finding and keeping friends is making time to get together a priority.

My friend Clyde’s dad meets each week with friends well past 70 and 80 years old.  They meet early in the morning over coffee and donuts to argue politics, tell jokes, share the challenge of growing old and show pictures of grandkids.   Each time they strengthen the ties that bind.

Living well is not for the faint of heart.  Heart break and sorrow come to us all.  Laughter, joy and wonder are waiting to be claimed too.

In the beautiful film, ‘Waking Ned Divine’, a friend eulogizes a dear old  friend: ‘When we laughed we grew younger’. So it was this past weekend with ‘the boys’.  Together we grew younger and our shared memories will carry us till we meet again.

 

 

 

 

 

Heresy of the Prosperity Gospel

Paula White and Joel Osteen are two of the most prominent advocates of the Prosperity Gospel.  Paula White from her pulpit in Florida and Joel Osteen from his pulpit in Texas will each preach on any given Sunday to more people than in my 30 years of ministry.


Prosperity theology (sometimes referred to as the ‘prosperity gospel’, the health and wealth gospel, or the gospel of success) is a Christian religious doctrine that financial blessing is the will of God for Christians, and that faith, positive thinking, and donations to Christian ministries will increase one’s material wealth.

It is a faith tradition with which Donald Trump and his penchant for conspicuous consumption has long  been associated. His “spiritual adviser” is Paula White, who as the leader of New Destiny Christian Center near Orlando, Fla., is perhaps the best known prosperity preacher in the country

“Every day you’re [living] your destiny, designed by God and discovered by you,” White said in a recent sermon. “You’re either in a position of abundance, you’re in a position of prosperity, or you’re in a position of poverty. Now that’s in every area of your life. … You’re living abundant in your affairs of life — and that includes your financial conditions — or you’re living in poverty.”

The prosperity gospel is a merging of selective excerpts from the Bible, with materialism, with positive thinking going back to Dale Carnegie, Norman Vincent Peale and more recently Robert Schuler and his ‘Glass Cathedral’.   Oprah in a not dissimilar manner blends positive thinking with a cafeteria approach to spirituality. All speak to the belief that positive thinking leads to good outcomes and is a blessing from a Divine source.

I’m all for positive thinking.  I try to be a ‘glass half full’ kind of guy.

But to equate good outcomes with God’s favor is problematic.  Rabbi Harold Kushner in his classic book ‘When Bad Things Happen to Good People’, shares the story of his own family.  Their son Aaron was born with an incurable disease that they knew would lead to Aaron’s death in his teens.

Listen to what well-meaning people offered to the Rabbi and his wife: ‘God is testing you’.  Or, ‘God is punishing you’.  Or, ‘God is teaching you an important lesson’.  Rabbi Kushner response? “I don’t want any part of a God who is so petty as to punish an innocent child for any perceived sin of another….Nor, do want to worship a God who would test or teach us a lesson with the price tag being the death of a child.”

I wonder what the prosperity gospel adherents would say to the rabbi and his family?   Classic prosperity gospel teaching is that such tragedy is the result of a ‘lack of faith’.

Kate Bowler, a theologian and historian at Duke University, wrote an opinion article in the New York Times in Feb. 2016 entitled: ‘Death the Prosperity Gospel and Me’.  She writes: ‘I am a historian of the American prosperity gospel. Put simply, the prosperity gospel is the belief that God grants health and wealth to those with the right kind of faith.’

She goes on to wonder what such proponents make of her recent diagnosis.  In her early 30’s with a toddler at home, she is diagnosed with Stage 4 Cancer.  Is it because she’s a critic of the prosperity gospel?  Is it because she doesn’t believe deeply enough? https://www.nytimes.com/…/death-the-prosperity-gospel-and-me.html

I understand the allure of the prosperity theology.  But simply put it is antithetical to what Jesus said and how he lived.  In Luke’s Gospel 4:  14 – 30  he stood before his hometown neighbors and quoted from the prophet Isaiah:

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor.  He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

Then Jesus got specific and sought to apply these teachings to the injustice and societal exploitation of this time. How did his neighbors respond?  They tried to throw him off a cliff.  They didn’t like how he called them to renounce their privilege and stand in solidarity with those who were powerless and forgotten.

Elsewhere Jesus said, ‘Take up your cross and follow me’…and, ‘the last will be first’ and ‘whatever you do for the most vulnerable you do unto me.’   This is hard stuff.  It doesn’t fill huge arenas with promises of personal wealth and good health.

Rather it’s all about standing with and standing up for those who are on the margins, those without a voice.  Those being rounded up for deportation.  Welcoming immigrants and refugees that others would keep out.

The way of Jesus, the way of the Hebrew prophets is about selflessness not selfishness.  Paradoxically it’s about being great as we humble ourselves in service to others.

It’s about washing feet (Gospel of John 13) . It’s about being a servant.

Such a message doesn’t fill arenas or draw a massive television audience.  But it is the Gospel of Jesus.  It’s a Gospel that has withstood all attempts to trivialize or control.

This is the Good News. Thanks be to God.

Stories from the March: We Belong to One Another

The Women’s March https://www.womensmarch.com on the day following President Trump’s Inauguration was a grassroots movement that brought millions into the streets (in cities across the nation and world).  Each person who marched has their own story. 

This is the second of two ‘guest blog’ installments by my friend and pastoral colleague, Julie Flowers https://www.fbcbeverly.org/ In the week since the March, President Trump has already written a flurry of executive orders and signaled plans for new laws.  Changes that I believe will erode our core values as a nation. 

Democracy is a fragile enterprise and requires that each generation give voice to and protect those core values that define who we want to be.  I invite you to read Julie’s story, reflect on what you hold dear and get involved.  

Installment 2: In Which We March

(Intersectionality, Connection, Anti-Racism, Feminism, and a Moment That Could be a Movement)

 We followed the crush of people up the stairs and out of the Metro station, stepping out into the overcast Washington, D.C. morning. Elisabeth and I paused, trying to get our bearings. There were people everywhere. There were street vendors calling to us, selling hats, shirts, and buttons; there were crowds moving in a throng toward the National Mall; there were Women’s March volunteers in orange mesh vests, answering questions and pointing the way toward where the marchers were gathering: down toward the Mall, past the vast island of port-a-potties, a chanting, cheering, sign-holding crowded that already, even at this early morning hour, stretched for city blocks. Taking it all in, Elisabeth and I set out toward the Mall, as chants of “Fired up! Ready to go!” echoed just beyond us.

photo-womens-march-4

We made our way, merging into the crowd we had seen in the distance. Now we were not outsiders looking in – we were one with this mass of people, closely packed into the streets. The crowd was mostly women, although there were certainly a large number of men – of all ages, all races, and with varied stories. Some were there in wheelchairs. Others walked with a walker or a cane. Some clutched the hands of young children or wore babies in carriers, securely strapped to their bodies. And we were a part of it.

All around us, we saw signs – “Look at that one!” we would call out to one another, as we noticed a favorite. We took pictures. Everyone was talking, strangers in the crowd becoming friends, even if only for those few moments. We were united in a common cause – resisting hate and standing up for women, for our POC sisters and brothers, for immigrants, for Muslims, for the environment, for education, for freedom.

photo-womens-march-3

Something happened, there in that place. For those moments, in that unique time, in a crowd that could have been pushy and angry with one another, annoyed at being packed in too tight and too close, annoyed at being hungry and thirsty and tired, the opposite happened. People saw one another. People worked together to make sure a wheelchair could easily pass through. Young people stopped to help older people down a curb or over a low fence. A middle-aged woman led a young woman who looked faint out of the tightest part of the crowd by the hand. They had only met moments before when the older woman noticed the younger one was struggling, and now, in this place, they were friends – and more than that – they belonged to one another.

There was an attention to and a care for the mutual well-being of those in that crowd. I saw people look one another in the eye. I heard people offer words of care, kindness, and support. I saw countless people in one area open bags and produce a wide array of snacks for a little boy who was hungry.

Lilla Watson, an Indigenous woman and artist from Australia, said:

“If you have come to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is tied up with mine, then let us work together.”

In those moments, crowded together there on the National Mall, spilling over onto city street upon city street, there was the spark of the realization that our liberation is, indeed, bound up with one another. We were a sea of stories; a sea of backgrounds; a sea of experiences, and we could not – and we cannot – rise without one another.

Feminism – and make no mistake, the feminist movement has room for women and men – must be an intersectional endeavor if we truly want to bring about our shared liberation. Intersectionality, a term first coined by law professor Kimberlé Crenshaw is a means to express the reality that women experience oppression in varying configurations and degrees of intensity.

There is no one-size-fits-all type of feminism. For example, black women face both sexism and racism as they navigate their day-to-day lives. Or a black lesbian woman faces racism, sexism, and homophobia. Intersectionality is the term given to acknowledging those layers and unique lived experiences of women.

To forge a way forward, to truly resist the hateful rhetoric and damaging and dangerous actions of Donald Trump’s administration, we must acknowledge that our liberation is bound up in one another’s. As a white woman, too, I am committed to acknowledging and checking the privilege that the system affords me for nothing more than the color of the skin into which I was born, and to inviting the voices and the experiences and the leadership of my sisters of color to come forward. Women and men of color in this nation have been fighting and marching and chanting and organizing against a system that oppresses and disenfranchises them for hundreds of years.

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For many of us, waking up in despair on November 9th and all that has unfolded since, has been but a small taste of what it’s been like to stand in their shoes in this nation. Respect for their voices, their experiences, and their struggle is imperative if we wish to move ahead and win liberation against tyranny and hate for all of us. If we wish to move ahead and save our planet. If we wish to move ahead and protect women’s rights to make choices about their own bodies. If we wish to move ahead and fight for equal rights and dignity and justice for all people.

Our liberation is bound up with each other. Divided, we will fall. There is no question.

The women’s marches – not only in Washington, D.C. but all across the nation and around the world – were a moment. But there is, within that moment, the power and the potential to unleash a movement. A beautiful, powerful, intersectional, anti-racist, feminist, justice-seeking, movement.

The chants of the march echo still in my ears: “The people, united, will never be defeated!”

May it be so.

If you want to read more about feminism, intersectionality, and the Women’s March, here are a few resources (not intended to exhaustive in any way!) to get you started:

http://everydayfeminism.com/2015/01/why-our-feminism-must-be-intersectional/

http://www.vox.com/identities/2017/1/17/14267766/womens-march-on-washington-inauguration-trump-feminism-intersectionaltiy-race-class

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/intersectionality-womens-march-on-washington_us_5883e2bce4b096b4a23248bb