I Am Jim Acosta

 

Behold the man who dared to ask a question of our incoming President while working for a network that mentioned there was an embarrassing dossier of information out there about the President-elect. His name is Jim Acosta. He is a Cuban-American and the Senior White House Correspondent for CNN. I don't know him. I don't particularly like CNN very much. But when I heard the news availability (I hardly call what I listened to a 'press conference'), I was shocked and shaken by the way Acosta was shouted down and shut out by the next supposed leader of the free world.

The President-elect, or PEEOTUS as I have been calling him, wasn't going to let Acosta say anything because the PEEOTUS didn't appreciate the coverage of a leaked document detailing the depth of his ties to Russia, and his strange sexual proclivities involving Russian prostitutes and urine. PEEOTUS singled out CNN from all the other networks that had mentioned the existence of these documents because, it seems, he didn't think they did enough to discredit the information by saying "unverified" hundred times. Acosta attempted to ask a question, but PEEOTUS wagged his finger at him.

"Not you. Your organization is terrible.  You are fake news!"  

"You are attacking us, can we have a question?" Acosta kept shouting back.

No. No, they could not. And as the two men kept yelling, the PEEOTUS peanut gallery applauded, egging on their bully to show this reporter who was gonna be boss here from now on.

I listened to all of this while I was driving and I felt the hairs going up on the back of my neck. As a former journalist, it was maddening. As an American citizen, it was frightening.

Verbal beat downs of reporters by politicians and other people with inflated ideas of their power is nothing new. And it isn't limited to those on the extreme right-wing of the political spectrum. This past year, Move On or some other group was cheering how Democratic candidate Bernie Sanders schooled "the lamestream media" at a news availability in Iowa. A female reporter had asked about Sanders "outsider" label when he'd, in fact, been involved in politics and a member of Congress for years. In a classic moment of misogyny, Sanders smiled and ignored her...but accepted the same question from a male reporter so he could blast away; thus making Bern-feelers very happy that their hero had told off the media. Back in 2000, when Sen. Kendrick Meek and Rep. Tony Hill held a sit-in at the Capitol over Gov. Jeb! Bush's proposals to end affirmative action in state government, the Governor was caught on tape angrily declaring to his staff member: "Throw their asses out!" Later, after that tape went international, Bush explained he wasn't talking about the two state legislators; he was referring to the members of the media who were ensconced with Meek and Hill in the Lieutenant Governor's office. That was supposed to make it all better, I suppose.

Everyone loves to hate the media because they are the messengers who tell us what our leaders are doing. And that is precisely why we need journalists to keep on the job and remaining vigilant in their pursuit of answers to tough questions. A free press is the threat to a tyrant and a dictator because they want to control every aspect of life...especially what the public is allowed to know. The best journalists are the ones who bring to our attention the uncomfortable and unsettling truths about what's happening in our communities, our country and the world; otherwise, we run the risk of being naïve and blind to problems that need addressing. The fact that an Mi6 report exists, unverified or whatever, that suggests the incoming President of the United States is a little too cozy with a long-time enemy of American democracy is news worthy. It is not fake. "Fake news" is the supermarket tabloids that spent the past eight years publishing unflattering photos of the First Family who was our first-ever African-American First Family. "Fake news" is ultra-white supremacist Breitbart, whose leader, Steve Bannon, is now going to be only footsteps away from the Oval Office.   

Last week, the goat was Jim Acosta. But it won't stop there. What I heard in that exchange was a warning shot across the bow of every news organization that if you dare question the PEEOTUS, or bring to light that he is a liar, an incompetent, and a mentally sick individual, you will be shouted down and shut out. You may not even get credentials to cover the PEEOTUS. This isn't the time for the media to reign it in. We need our free press to step on the gas and wear it as a badge of honor if they get yelled at or kicked out of the room. We need our media to close ranks against this bullying and defend their colleagues when this abusive behavior happens again because it will. We need this because these are the people's people who are the eyes and ears bearing witness, up-close and personal, so that we can know what's happening. They are our surrogates. God help us if we lose that freedom of the press.

Clicked off: the Confrontation Seen Everywhere

When I saw the video this morning of a tense and heated confrontation between student journalists at the University of Missouri and protesters, who were both students and faculty, I felt as if I'd been slingshot back in time to situations in which I encountered anger and mistrust while attempting to do my job. Fortunately, I never had it quite as bad as young photojournalist Tim Tai had it. And while some faculty on the campus made sure I knew they didn't like me because I was a journalism major, I never experienced a faculty member threatening me with physical harm as happened to Mizzou junior Mark Schierbecker.

This video made me angry enough to write the following email letter to Dr. Melissa Click, the Communications professor who was screaming at the journalists and threatening them. I carbon-copied Garnett Stokes, the University Provost as well as my former advisor and KBIA-FM news director, Mike McKean:

Dear Dr. Click,

"Who wants to help me get this reporter out of here? I need some muscle over here." 

Seriously? You said that? Will you be including this video in your future dissection of video and popular culture topics in your Comm School classes?

As a graduate of the University of Missouri School of Journalism, I am appalled that a professor at my alma mater would be a party to inciting violence against a journalist who in this case was also a student at the university. A protest such as Concerned Student 1950 is deserving of media coverage, and these student journalists were attempting to fulfill their public trust to gather information and present a current reasoned reflection of the days' events. The reporter who you wanted removed was seeking interviews with participants. As one of the journalists kept repeating, they were trying to do their job. I find it ironic that only a couple of days prior, you had tweeted a message to the world inviting media coverage of these unfolding events. When the media came, you pushed back. How bizarre.

Don't get me wrong. I do not disagree with Concerned Student 1950 and the righteous anger the students and faculty are showing. I was part of the Mizzou culture from 1986-1990, and therefore am aware that racism existed then, and am greatly disturbed by the reports I am hearing now. My sincere hope is that Concerned Student 1950 and the existing administration and the Board of Curators will now take time to sit down and set accountable goals of diversifying our campus, and having a true listening process so that we can become a model of how to move this country toward recognizing the sins of racism and realizing a future where racial equality can be more than just a nice ideal. Critics will take potshots at such efforts, but I have more confidence than ever in my alma mater to ignore the noise of the enemies of change, and begin this important and vital work. 

I also hope that Concerned Student 1950 and the existing administration will continue to make the athletic department, and the football team specifically, a part of this effort toward a better Mizzou. The football team and Coach Pinkel exhibited true courage and leadership by emptying themselves of their position of privilege and power in an effort to draw focus to those whose voices were being ignored. I have never felt prouder of the Tigers in my life. I don't care if we win a national championship in football; I care that our coach is teaching his players what "team" means and how to be men. They did that. 

Teamwork is what it will take to change the culture at Mizzou. Willingness to relinquish assumed privilege to make room for more voices is what it will take to change the culture at Mizzou. Respectful communication amongst those voices is what it will take to change the culture at Mizzou. Having a world-renown journalism school, with hard-working dedicated bright students to get that message out to the world, is a necessary part of exhibiting leadership at Mizzou.

Threatening student journalists has no place at my university. I don't know what kind of sanctions the school might impose on your behavior. I hope you are big enough to review the video and rethink what message that sent.

In solidarity with the students, both protesters and journalists,

Susan Gage
BJ, Broadcast Journalism, 1990 

This evening, word is out from the Columbia Missourian, the city newspaper published, edited and reported by students and faculty of the Journalism School, that Professor Click, who held what is called a "courtesy appointment" to the J-School has resigned that appointment and apologized for her actions. From her statement, she apparently did as I hoped she would: reviewed the tape and realized just how far off-the-chain she'd gone.

"I have reached out to the journalists involved to offer my sincere apologies and to express regret over my actions. I regret the language and strategies I used, and sincerely apologize to the MU campus community, and journalists at large, for my behavior, and also for the way my actions have shifted attention away from the students’ campaign for justice."

Life is messy. Protests are heated. I'm with the J-School dean who commended the students assigned to walk less than the length of a football field to the Carnahan Quadrangle to cover these historic events. Seeing them, and how they conducted themselves, tells me that my peculiar and oft-misunderstood School on the University campus is still turning out excellent journalists. Certainly being in the midst of an important protest happening on the campus is better than the classroom experience, and will lay the foundation for many a First Amendment discussion for years to come.

My View on a Facebook Posting

One of my most memorable professors at the University of Missouri was Dr. Don Ranly. He was the perfect picture of "professor"with his grayish-white beard and mustache and his authoriative delivery of his lectures in my Journalism 300 course. This was one of the pre-requistite classes designed to weed out those second semester sophomores who aspired to enter the famed School of Journalism. We had to pay attention, do as he said, and pass J-300 to fulfill our dreams of J-School. To this day, I still remember one of Dr. Ranly's most famous statements. It was to answer the question: What is News?

"News is the current reasoned reflection of the day's events."

For my career as a journalist, marked by more awards than I can count or remember at this point, Dr. Ranly's succinct definition was a touchstone to guide me as I strived to do my part to serve the public radio listening audience of Florida. I also had my scroll, handed to me at graduation, of Walter Williams' Journalist's Creed to remind me that my job meant that I was in a position of public trust and to not abuse this trust as I went about presenting "the current reasoned reflection of the day's events."

There are days when I wonder what the hell has happened to my once beloved profession. I had one of those yesterday.

The medium was Facebook. The text was a posting by a friend who now serves as an editor at the Tallahassee Democrat, the only daily newspaper in the capital city. She was sharing what had run on the op-ed page of the paper. It was a column by a local minister decrying the U.S. Supreme Court's ruling on marriage equality.

Such an opinion piece would not be so unusual for this city. I wouldn't agree with it and it would bother me to have yet-another Christian getting a column to rail about gay people. What was unusual, and why it more than bothered me, was that this was no run-of-the-mill ranting pastor. This was Fr. Eric Dudley of St. Peter's Anglican Church, a parish which had its beginning in an act of spiritual violence committed against St. John's Episcopal Church. Fr. Dudley, with all of the priests, most of the vestry, and several of the wealthier members of the congregation, announced at the 9am service on Sunday, Oct. 2, 2005, that they were leaving St. John's and walking down the street to begin a new church affiliated with the Anglican Church of North America (ACNA). He invited people to join him as he went out the door. And those who didn't were left with no priests, no lay governance, and in shock, hurt, anger, and disbelief.

Father Dudley's decision to do this act of rebellion on a Sunday morning came from his almost pathological hatred of the Episcopal Church and its decision to consecrate Bishop Gene Robinson of New Hampshire. He had been in the newspaper and on TV speaking out against Bishop Robinson. And he started having cottage meetings, six months prior to the big walk out, to see who might be willing to follow him. Declaring those who stayed "unorthodox," he effectively shook the dust of the Episcopal Church off his feet and left. On the Christian Sabbath day.

What's more: St. Peter's is affiliated with the Church of Uganda, which has been a participant in promoting the passage of laws in that country that criminalize homosexuality.

The timing of this op-ed piece was curious. The Episcopal Church has just finished its General Convention where it voted overwhelmingly to offer trial marriage liturgies for use by both same-sex and opposite-sex couples. In a move of pastoral generosity, the Convention also made room for theological disagreement, so that no bishop or priest has to marry a couple if they don't want to do so; however, the bishops must make provisions to find a way for a lesbian or gay couple to access the marriage rite with another diocese. It appears Florida will be one of those opting out.

None of this history, or corresponding current state of affairs, appeared in Dudley's piece or in the newspaper. Instead, all the average reader saw was a man in a clergy collar, talking about God's intentions for creation as "one man and one woman" and asking for lesbian and gay people to respect him and his church's position to continue denying that our marriages are valid.

But for those of us who do know this history, and particularly for those of us who are LGBTQ or allies and know this about the author, to see this in a newspaper with no additional comment or corresponding "counter-point" from a member of the Christian clergy was appalling.

My newspaper friend informed me this piece was unsolicited. As I noted to my friend, allowing this unsolicited piece to run without an opposing opinion is akin to having a fan of the New York Yankees offer a commentary on the 2004 Boston Red Sox win of the World Series. Or--to put it in purely local terms--giving a UF Gator fan free space to offer an opinion on the FSU Seminoles. The fact that it was not even a piece the newspaper requested, and they printed it any way, opens them up to other questions: will an atheist get to offer commentary on Easter? Can a neo-Nazi decide that at times when Jews are remembering the Holocaust he should submit a piece to the paper to explain why it's all a big lie?

Answer: of course not! And yet there are lots of atheists in our community. And there are people who hold anti-Semitic views in our society as well. By the logic of the Tallahassee Democrat, we should open the editorial pages to those viewpoints, too, without any counterpoint. Printing an unsolicited piece by Father Eric Dudley...especially given the timing with the actions at the Episcopal Church's General Convention...was simply wrong. There is no defense for this. The ethic of public trust and presenting "a current reasoned reflection of the day's events," especially when dealing with a current events topic on an editorial page, calls for not accepting just anybody's opinion piece, but putting some thought and planning into the presentation. That's called being responsible with this public trust.

The paper is going to run a My View piece answering Dudley's theological arguments to support denying recognition of married same-sex couples. The rabbi of Temple Israel, Jack Romberg, was good enough to respond, and he has and has done what he has done before: explain the Hebrew Scriptures to a Christian audience who keep referring to them to back up what they think God intends for humanity. Jews have spent a whole lot more time on Genesis than most Christians ever will.

Too bad the local Episcopal priests aren't the ones answering Dudley. They might tell him and us about Jesus and the most extravagant and liberating Love that rocks the world.

"Let's Not Just Make Noise; Let's Make a Difference"

I tuned in to CSPAN last night to hear the outcome of the St. Louis County grand jury investigation into the shooting death of Michael Brown in Ferguson this past August. I knew CSPAN would provide the coverage, sans talking heads, so that I could make my own conclusions about what was said. And what I heard from the District Attorney made me scratch my head and say, "Huh?" 

I appreciated the methodical detail of the course of events that led to Ferguson Police Officer Darren Wilson crossing paths with 18-year-old Ferguson resident Michael Brown. But as I heard the story unfold, I couldn't help but wish that this were one of those movies where we could pause the action and allow for an alternate ending. Did Officer Wilson really need to back up his vehicle and block Brown and his friend? Did Brown really need to have an altercation through the window of the police SUV with Wilson? When Wilson's gun went off and grazed Brown's thumb sending the 18 year-old man fleeing down the street, did Officer Wilson really need to pursue him, or could he have waited for back up to arrive? And did Officer Wilson really need to fire off repeated rounds at Brown, even when Brown turned around? The District Attorney said there were conflicting stories. That's believable since it was a highly emotionally-charged scene, and probably the adrenaline of witnesses was running as hard and fast as the two men engaged in the fight. But I just can't shake the fact that Brown didn't have a gun. Officer Wilson did. Even the forensic evidence cited showed that Brown was collapsing forward and yet the bullets kept flying. And one family lost a child, a young man.

The grand jury took what was presented to them, and concluded that Officer Wilson was within his right as a law enforcement officer to respond as he did. Missouri had spoken, and America reacted to the news. 

Many of us, African-Americans and people of all colors, were, sadly, not entirely surprised by this decision. But we were disappointed. Many were angry. Unfortunately for business owners along a block of West Florissant Avenue in Ferguson, MO, the anger erupted in setting buildings ablaze and destroying the workplaces. The news media, naturally, gravitated toward the more violent outbursts even though there were peaceful demonstrations and vigils taking place not only in the St. Louis area, but all over the country. As I noted on Facebook, division and fear make for good television visuals. Nobody wants to show the non-violent protests, the people allowing themselves to scream out for justice and not just burn the whole thing down.

I understand the rage. I cannot help but feel the powerlessness of people who, rightly or wrongly, believe the whole system is set up against them. How many times have unarmed black men and women been shot and killed, yet nothing happens? How many parents have had to teach their sons how to behave when the cops approach them, and now even telling their children to put their hands up or out and away from their body doesn't necessarily save them? And there won't be a trial, held in the light of the public eye, to get at the truth in this case. Even the announcement of the non-indictment came at night and not during the day.

I understand the tension of the police. It is not easy to put on a uniform that invites such disparate responses of repulsion on the one hand, and adoration to an extreme on the other hand. It's a dangerous and difficult job, particularly in a country which has a love affair with individual rights to be their own private militia. I was once a student officer with the University of Missouri police department, so I know the type of abusive behavior the cops endure from the public they serve. 

But what I don't understand is how we can keep having these same scenarios play out over and over and over where, at the end of the day, a young African-American or other person of color who is unarmed ends up dead, and there are no consequences, no discipline, and...effectively...no real justice.

Some have argued that Michael Brown wasn't an innocent choir boy on his way to his grandma's house. They note that the confrontation between Wilson and Brown stemmed from the report of someone matching Brown's description having just stolen some cigarillos from a convenience store. Officer Wilson testified that he saw cigars in Brown's hand and he realized that he was likely the thief. There are many, mostly white Americans, saying that Brown shouldn't have broken the law by stealing the cigars. And there are those who go so far as to say, "He got what he deserved."

I have to wonder when it became justice to shoot and kill someone for shoplifting? If that's now a capital crime, then there are lots of kids and young people who won't make it to their adult years.

And it doesn't answer the central question that is still in my mind: why did Officer Wilson feel so threatened and afraid that he shot to kill, rather than wound, Michael Brown?

I don't think we'll ever really know that answer. And so I go to the place that Michael Brown's parents have gone: demand that their son's death not just be more noise in the racial clammoring of America, but that we do something to make a difference. The difference needs to be greater than Ferguson because what happened there on a mid-day August Saturday could easily have happened here in Tallahassee, or in Seattle, or in West Roxbury. Communities of color have very little trust that the police are there to serve and protect them. Constant racial profiling hasn't helped and may actually be contributing to a subconscious belief that everybody is a bad guy until proven not guilty. The Browns have called for all police to have body cameras to record their interactions. That will document what happens at traffic stops and such. But there are still more things that may need to happen. And it will take all of us, police officers and the communities they serve, to come together and work toward solutions that will address the growing mistrust.

My faith tells me that I am to strive for justice and peace and respect the dignity of every human being. That is my ongoing commitment in my hope and desire that we will all one day see that we are a human race made up of many hues which also color our experiences which in turn become our realities. I will commit to the long slog toward making true equality THE reality.

If Christ is the King, then....

We've reached the end of the season of Pentecost and have arrived at the date that is commonly known throughout the Episcopal Church as "Christ the King" Sunday. To punctuate the moment, we hear the famous words from Matthew's Gospel:

Then the king will say to those at his right hand, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” And the king will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” (Matt 25:34-39).

We also know what follows this. Those who don't feed the hungry, clothe the naked, welcome the stranger, take care of the sick or visit the prisoner are the ones who have not done the will of the king...and they will not inherit eternal life.  To put this all in simpler terms, when we take care of each other, look out for each other, recognize our selves in the "other", this is when we have made earth more like heaven. It's when we do the simple things of paying attention to the people we encounter and treat them with the respect and dignity afforded every human being that we put the Christ back into Christianity and He can reign as king.

Just saying, "Oh, yes, I will take care of the poor and the needy," doesn't cut it. To actually achieve "earth as it is in heaven" entails a lot of work and it isn't for the feight of heart. It means entering into the messiness of humanity and sitting with the stranger in the dark and daring to touch their hand or their shoulder to remind them that they are not alone.

We've had some terrifying events lately in Tallahassee which sadly are the same terrifying events that happen in cities and towns all over this country every day. A person with a gun opens fire on people who are unarmed or responding to others in need of help. It happened twice in less than three days. On the Florida State University campus, a young man who had graduated from FSU and gone on to law school and had a career as an attorney in New Mexico returned to his alma mater, to the library where he used to love to study as an undergraduate, and shot three people. When the police arrived and ordered him to drop his weapon, he fired off shots at them. They killed him. Myron May wasn't the smiling student and promising young lawyer he'd been. Friends report that he had been on a terrifying downward spiral of mental illness and a belief that the police had bugged everything from his car to his sneakers. We won't know why he felt the need to go back to the campus he loved to inflict pain and terror. But it seems he is yet another victim of a mental healthcare system that has too many gaps in which very sick and troubled people continuously fall and their families and friends are powerless to do much more than watch. When one has to "do something" in order to get help, it can lead to them "doing something," that harms themselves or others. That seems to have been the case with Myron May. And how sad is that. It wasn't that his friends didn't attempt to go sit with him in his dark place, to get him the help he needed. They did. But the gaps that have been allowed to grow in the system, the inability due to bureaucracies to get people help conspired against their efforts. And so a campus and its police officers got pulled into his hell. And we, again, are left with questions: why can't someone with a mental illness get proper treatment? And how in the world are they able to purchase a gun?

Another man, with a gun, took aim this morning at Leon County Sheriffs deputies and Tallahassee firefighters responding to a house fire on a normally quiet cul-de-sac. Details are still sketchy, but it seems this guy was someone with a record and known to be trouble. He may have set fire to the home as a way of drawing out the first responders, and then he ambushed the first deputy on the scene, killing him and taking his gun. An off-duty TPD officer who happened to live in the neighborhood and was preparing to work a shift at the FSU football game, heard the melee outside and was the one who ultimately ended up shooting and killing the guy. A neighborhood was terrified and shaken. And more lie dead from gunshots. Many are quick to note that it could have been worse. But that is small consolation to those mourning the dead. All day on Facebook, as the story of this latest shooting unfolded, I would learn that one friend may have known the perpertrator; another lives only a few houses away from the dead deputy. The violence ripples out from the crime scene and touches us all. 

If Christ is King, then surely he must be like the man who returned from his journey in last week's Gospel parable only to find that the person given the one talent (which was actually a huge amount of money in those days) had buried it because he knew the man was greedy. What will this King have to say about how we've been doing, as a human race, to make earth resemble heaven? Will he note how we throw our hands up and say, "We can't do anything about XYZ because... (fill in the list of excuses)?" Perhaps as we prepare for the return of the King in these coming weeks of Advent, we might begin with looking at our unwillingness to tackle the tough issues every single day, and demand better of our leaders and our selves when it comes to the lack of adequate resources for mental health care. Maybe now is the time to ask the harder questions about the easy access to guns, and for those with the power to change laws to worry more about the public good than the next election cycle. The "least of these" are really any of us and all of us. Our refusal to see that and respond in Love to one another through doing the hard work of making earth like heaven is when we fail the King.

When Will The Angel Save Us From Destruction: a Rosh Hashanah Reflection

It is the tradition on Rosh Hashanah to hear the chanting of the Torah portion from Genesis which is that terrifying moment when Abraham takes Isaac up the mountain and lays him on an altar to sacrifice him only to have the intervention from an angel of The Lord to stop him from plunging a knife into his only son. I knew this was the reading we'd hear. I've been hearing it every year that I have attended this service with my partner. So, it should be no surprise that when I woke up this morning, I was thinking about this very complex and troubling story.  And I was thinking about this world, the events happening at a global and local level with politics, wars, sports.  A responsive prayer at the beginning of the service summed up my thinking:

When will redemption come?

When we master the violence that fills our world.

When we look upon others as we would have them look upon us.

When we grant to every person the rights we claim for ourselves.

Which brings me back to seeing the story of Abraham and Isaac in light of today's world.  It's not uncommon for the generation that comes before to look at the ones coming up behind them with a bit of disdain and dismissiveness. Even as the older grumbles that the younger is lazy or immature or reckless, they also look to the younger to fix the problems the older generation is currently immersed in creating.  I thought it was rich when I was a senior in prep school that my sociology teacher lectured us about the proliferation of nuclear weapons and that it was up to us, the ones on the cusp of gaining the right to vote, to save the country and the world from this threat.  Outspoken student that I was, I approached her after class and told her that since I had no right, at that time, to vote perhaps it was really up to her generation to not saddle mine with this problem. The older generation posseses the power in the moment and has the knowledge that the younger generation does not. Why wait for the younger generation to come of age and then expect them to fix the mess?

This is where I see the intersection with the story of Abraham and Isaac. The story in Genesis begins with God putting Abraham to the test:

"He said, ‘Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt-offering on one of the mountains that I shall show you.’ So Abraham rose early in the morning, saddled his donkey, and took two of his young men with him, and his son Isaac; he cut the wood for the burnt-offering, and set out and went to the place in the distance that God had shown him. On the third day Abraham looked up and saw the place far away. Then Abraham said to his young men, ‘Stay here with the donkey; the boy and I will go over there; we will worship, and then we will come back to you.’Abraham took the wood of the burnt-offering and laid it on his son Isaac, and he himself carried the fire and the knife. So the two of them walked on together. Isaac said to his father Abraham, ‘Father!’ And he said, ‘Here I am, my son.’ He said, ‘The fire and the wood are here, but where is the lamb for a burnt-offering?’ Abraham said, ‘God himself will provide the lamb for a burnt-offering, my son.’ So the two of them walked on together."

 Abraham knows what has been asked of him, a terrible and terrifying reality that he's been asked to kill his son. He lays the burden of carrying the wood on Isaac.  Isaac, a simple young man, asks a straight forward question, "If there's going to be a sacrifice, where's the lamb?" And Abraham, rather than giving him the hard truth, gave him an answer to hold off any further questions.  And they kept walking together.  The truth may have been more than Abraham could handle himself. The truth may have been so disturbing that he couldn't say anything more than what he said.  And the truth is, as it will turn out later in the story, that he wasn't lying: God would eventually provide the lamb.  But not before Abraham had bound poor Isaac and stood over him with a knife.  

Abraham represents the older generation or, more accurately, the baby boomers and the Gen-Xers who are holding the positions of authority and are the ones "in charge" of our worldly affairs at the moment. Isaac are those who are coming up behind us from the 20-somethings all the way down to the infants and yet to be born. Like Abraham, we presently face many tests: 

Are we going to get serious about climate change and our dependence on fossil fuels?  

Are we going to think it is acceptable to beat women? 

How about the shooting of unarmed black men and women?  

Will we scream at immigrant children on buses? 

Will we refuse to pay people a living wage?

Will our universities go to the highest bidder?

Or allow gangs of people to gang up on gay people walking at night? 

How long can we stand politicians who refuse to fulfill their duties to lead and hold our government hostage? 

Will we drop bombs on ISIS or start fighting another war? 

Can there ever be peace in the Middle East?  

These are just some of the questions that we Abrahams have before us in the perpetual journey of discerning how to choose life over death.  Our decisions are in our hands in the same way that the knife was in Abraham's.  And we, like Abraham, are standing with these questions, these important questions, that will determine the future and fate of our Isaac generations.  We are holding that knife and there are some who seemingly are ready to make the sacrifice of our future generations while daring to praise God as they do it. There are also some of us who are listening for the voice of the angel to tell us to put the knife down, and find that God is providing, through the voices of scientists and climatologists and peace makers and lovers of justice and men and women of many colors, orientations, creeds, who are saying, "Don't sacrifice the future! Listen!"  We have voices of angels calling to us to take on these difficult and seemingly impossible tasks of doing what is right for our world now, and not slough it off onto the next generation. Because to slough it off may be like plunging the knife into Isaac's chest.

When will redemption come?

When we listen for that voice that says, "This is the way. Walk in it."

Tell the Truth and Bridge These Gaps

I was tired.  I had lots of other things I wanted to do with my Monday afternoon.  But when I got word that the Dream Defenders were organizing a march and protest in memory of Michael Brown, the 18 year-old gunned down in Ferguson, Missouri, on August 2nd, I decided that I needed to go and march with them.  Go and be part of the demonstration of determination that we are not going to accept having a country where unarmed people get shot down in the street.  Be a body for justice and peace in my absolute commitment that we must strive to respect the dignity of every human being.

Most importantly, I wanted to be there to listen in the indaba way of listening; namely, I don't speak and I don't attempt to formulate a response.  Instead, I listen, pay attention, and yield "the floor" to hear what is going on inside the speaker.    

What I heard from some of the young people who spoke was they are fed up.  They see themselves in Michael Brown's shoes because, for them, he is their brother, their son, their uncle.  Maybe not by blood, but by body type and skin color.  And they are frustrated that justice doesn't seem to come in these instances where police officers shoot and kill black men and women.  They are upset with the lack of understanding that Michael Brown's killing is symbolic of things greater, a pervasive problem in this country that never seems to get addressed. They don't want armored tanks rolling through the streets to patrol neighborhoods.  And they want to cry.

So do I.

I join in the frustration with how things were handled in Ferguson, and I recognize that what's happening there is harkening back to decades past in this country that just seem to keep coming back around, with a different focal point and different names of players involved.  But it is still the sin of us vs. them, which sometimes is a race thing, a gender thing, a sexual orientation thing, a religion thing, or a nationality thing... and even sometimes more than just one of those "things."   

When will we drop the divisions?  Perhaps when we all see Michael Brown as our brother, our son, our uncle.  Do white parents worry about their sons in the same ways that black parents do?  Probably not.  They probably don't have to worry that a police officer in pursuit of their son will shoot him six times.  They probably don't even consider that as a possibility.  The goal shouldn't be getting white parents to live with those same fears; the goal should be to move our collective consciousness to a place where NO parent should have to have this fear.

So, how do we do that?  I think it begins with those of us who are white being willing to not only listen and hear what are the complaints of our fellow brothers and sisters of color, but to acknowledge that is within our power to facilitate change to the system.  Changing a system that's been churning and chugging along this way for more than 400 years is not going to happen overnight.  We have to open an honest and frank dialogue about race, and in doing so, I think we need to reject the attempts to label "all white people are like this" or "all black people are like this" and acknowledge that all people are a mixed-up combination of lots of things, and it doesn't help to use a broad brush to characterize one group as being a monolithic community.   I think our police, especially, need to take a step back and assess how they are interacting with the community they are charged to protect and serve. It's a sad day when our police feel they must drive around in armored vehicles.  Is that necessary?  When the Missouri state troopers mixed in with the protestors and talked to the crowds, and even marched along with them, there was a night of calm in Ferguson.  Perhaps the police in every community in this country would do well to have their top brass meet with communities, and again, listen to what they are saying, and make changes to repair the broken trust that seems to exist.

As a former journalist, I think we need to hold our news media accountable for their part.  Language is a powerful tool.  So are the images shown on TV "news."  Being the public's eyewitness is an enormous responsibility, and it must be exercised with care and wisdom.  Don't call people protesting a killing in their neighborhood "a mob."  That leads one to think that they're hooligans.  Don't just show the few that are commiting crimes and repeat those images over and over while not giving equal time and footage, and perhaps more so, to the vast majority who are simply demanding justice in a peaceful protest.  We depend upon journalists to give us an honest, reasoned reflection of the day's events.  Take that charge seriously, please!

I long for a day when we can really be more "we" and not so much "us" vs. "them."  I pray for an end to our divisions.  I pray for us to recognize the needs in our own communities and understand that we are all connected.  I ask for God's grace that I may live and love and work for a more just society. 

The More Things Change... The More They Don't

The above photo is not from Alabama in the 1960s.  Instead, it is from a few days ago in Ferguson, Missouri, the sight of another incident of an unarmed black teenager getting shot to death, this time by a uniformed police officer.  The details of what exactly happened last Saturday afternoon that led to this shooting are sketchy at best.  The one thing that is not up for debate: an 18-year-old boy named Michael Brown, on his way to see his grandmother, was gunned down in the street even though he had no weapon.  And a community, and a nation, are rightly outraged.  A crowd began forming to protest, chanting "Don't Shoot!" with their arms raised over their heads as apparently Michael had done.  No doubt someone in Michael's family had taught him as a young black male put your arms up so the cops will see you are unarmed.  This is the real world for our African-American children in this country: their families teach them how to respond when stopped by the police.  It's right there along side how to ride a bicycle because it is such a common day occurence.   In Michael's case, not even his training to raise up his arms could protect him from getting shot to death.

The situation has been tense with barking police dogs, armored SWAT teams, and officers in riot gear.  There have been some blow-outs with protestors getting shot by rubber bullets and one night the news was filled with images of looting.  The Missouri Highway Patrol has been called in to take over the policing duties in Ferguson.  Meanwhile, the officer who shot Michael Brown remains anonymous.  There is fear that someone might retaliate by killing him.      

This evening, my friend the Very Rev. Mike Kinman was one of the adults marching with the youth of Ferguson and the greater St. Louis area.  Happily he reported on Facebook that the youth were leading, and the police, this time the state troopers, had actually come together with the protestors and were talking with people.  Even though the crowd had swelled to 2,000, everyone was respecting each other, and the march to the police headquarters was proceeding peacefully.  Mike's description is reminiscent of a story told about the man who is today's "Saint of the Day" in the Episcopal Church calendar: my New Hampshire hero Jonathan Myrick Daniels.

The above photo IS from Alabama in the 1960s.  Jonathan Daniels was a seminarian from the Episcopal Theological Seminary in Cambridge, MA, who went South and stayed to work in the civil rights movement there.  Daniels marched, he tutored black children, and was known for making some of the good white Episcopalians of Alabama uncomfortable when he would bring African-Americans along with him to church.  What made me think of my friend's description of things in Ferguson tonight was this account from Daniels' diary, a story that is one of my favorites about this hot-headed Yankee:

After a week-long, rain-soaked vigil, we still stood face to face with the Selma police. I stood, for a change, in the front rank, ankle-deep in an enormous puddle. To my immediate right were high school students, for the most part, and further to the right were a swarm of clergymen. My end of the line surged forward at one point, led by a militant Episcopal priest whose temper (as usual) was at combustion-point. Thus I found myself only inches from a young policeman. The air crackled with tension and open hostility. Emma Jean, a sophomore in the Negro high school, called my name from behind. I reached back for her hand to bring her up to the front rank, but she did not see. Again she asked me to come back. My determination had become infectiously savage, and I insisted that she come forward--I would not retreat! Again I reached for her hand and pulled her forward. The young policeman spoke: "You're dragging her through the puddle. You ought to be ashamed for treating a girl like that." Flushing--I had forgotten the puddle--I snarled something at him about whose-fault-it-really-was, that managed to be both defensive and self-righteous. We matched baleful glances and then both looked away. And then came a moment of shattering internal quiet, in which I felt shame, indeed, and a kind of reluctant love for the young policeman. I apologized to Emma Jean. And then it occurred to me to apologize to him and to thank him. Though he looked away in contempt--I was not altogether sure I blamed him--I had received a blessing I would not forget. Before long the kids were singing, "I love ---." One of my friends asked [the young policeman] for his name. His name was Charlie. When we sang for him, he blushed and then smiled in a truly sacramental mixture of embarrassment and pleasure and shyness. Soon the young policeman looked relaxed, we all lit cigarettes (in a couple of instances, from a common match, and small groups of kids and policemen clustered to joke or talk cautiously about the situation. It was thus a shock later to look across the rank at the clergymen and their opposites, who glared across a still unbroken "Wall" in what appeared to be silent hatred. Had I been freely arranging the order for Evening Prayer that night, I think I might have followed the General Confession directly with the General Thanksgiving--or perhaps the Te Deum.

Daniels also was gunned down, on the front porch of a store in Hayneville, AL, on August 20, 1965.   He took the bullet meant for a young black teenager named Ruby Sales.  The person who shot him was a special deputy named Tom Coleman.   Coleman was tried for manslaughter and acquitted by an all-white jury.  Daniels death, protecting an unarmed African-American girl, raised the sin of racism and the need for the church's involvement in social justice to a new height.  Clearly, looking at today's world where unarmed black men are getting killed by the police, and there seems to be a shocking lack of the respect for the dignity of every human being, the church needs to stand with the oppressed and demand better of those who are charged with protecting and serving all the public.

And so we pray...

O God of justice and compassion, who put down the proud and the mighty from their place, and lift up the poor and afflicted: We give you thanks for your faithful witness Jonathan Myrick Daniels, who, in the midst of injustice and  violence, risked and gave his life for another; and we pray that we, following his example, may make no peace with oppression; through Jesus Christ the just one: who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  

And we add: 

God make speed to save us.

Lord make haste to help us.  

Hanging on for Hope

Monday night in America, the laughter left and the tears rolled in.

Robin Williams, the much loved comedian and actor of enormous talent, was dead.  The news hit social media sites and spread quickly with photos, film clips, and the repetition of "No!" or "Say it ain't so!"  A person, an entertainer, who gave us so much to laugh about, to think on, and to find joy in life is not the type of person you ever expect to die.  At least not so suddenly.  And then the added shock: he died because he killed himself.  Now his demise becomes even more complicated for those who knew his on-screen, zany, fun-filled, wise and wonderful personas, and all the amazingly compassionate ways in which he used his fame to work for a better world.  How could someone who is like Robin Williams commit suicide?

I've read the postings and the articles that have pointed to his battles with depression, and his struggles to remain sober and stay off alcohol and cocaine.  He apparently had checked himself into a rehab program when his latest TV series was canceled.  From all accounts, he struggled with addiction, sometimes winning and sometimes losing.  The depression seemed to go hand-in-hand with that.

I was deeply saddened by Williams' death, and his actions that led to his death.  I didn't know Robin Williams, and never had a personal encounter with him on a set, on a street, or anywhere.  But when someone commits suicide, and we learn of their wrestling matches with the demon of depression, it strikes a cord in me.  I may not have known him, but I know that fight.  I, too, was once suicidal.  And so I have an uncomfortable knowledge of what that level of depression looks like.  It is darker than a moonless night.  And it is physical.  I remember the time my mother found me in my parents bedroom, clinging and clawing at the sheets on the bed.  The sensation in my body was that I was slipping away into an abyss as my brain pounded me with messages about my worthlessness.  It was bad enough to have boys on my prep school campus bullying me; to have my brain join in the taunting was cruel and unusal punishment.  My mom recalled that day, too, and her realization of how terrifying things were for me.  Luckily, I had a ray of hope. 

The day that I came closest to actually killing myself, my prep school chaplain intervened.  Her class had ended, and I was supposed to be on my way out the door to Noyes Library for my second year German class.  Instead, I stayed in my seat, eyes locked on the table.  Darkness was descending in my head.  I had spent the last twenty minutes or so figuring out what I could do to end my suffering.  Fortunately, I had forgotten the small pocketknife I sometimes carried, so I could not cut myself.  Instead, I was ready to walk to a footbridge on campus, and jump.  But I couldn't move.  I was frozen in place and I felt heavy.  And I stared and stared at the table.  Ms. Cleghorn inquired as to why I wasn't leaving.

"Talk me out of suicide."

That's all that came out of my mouth.  We'd just sat through a presentation by our headmaster who had told us about how his brother had committed suicide.  And the sickness in my head had already twisted his story around to attack me and tell me that this is what I had already done to my family and my friends.  I had already left them with this heartache...even though I was still alive.  But my brain had already judged me guilty and was piling on the message that I was of no use to anyone.

Ms. Cleghorn didn't say anything immediately.  I felt panic rising inside.  She had made me promise her when she first became my advisor, and I told her that I was struggling with suicidal tendancies, that I needed to come to her first if I ever wanted to kill myself.   She was my hope.  She broke her silence and spoke in words that I don't rightly recall any more.  But her anchor was in God; hence her grace-filled words began to break through the darkness.  Time was suspended.  My ears had a ringing sound.  But I do remember, in the course of all of this, she told me we would get me to someone who would give me more help.  That happened.  I began seeing a psychiatrist outside of Boston.  I was put on medication.

Then another medication.

Then a third and final medication to deal with chemical imbalance in my brain.

I had so many blood tests that, to this day, I look away at the sight of a needle.  The medication stabilized my moods and kept me from teetering on the egde of self-destruction.  I stopped having the nightly dreams of the sensation of hanging myself.  I survived one of the most horrible times of my teenage years.  I'm lucky.

Every time I hear of a completed suicide, my heart sinks.  I know that the person who killed him or herself did not do this act as any kind of deliberate offense to anyone because I have been in that sinking pit of depression which feeds all the wrong messages to the person.  They wrongly have concluded that somehow their existence is the problem.  Without someone who is able to pierce through that darkness, it is a mighty struggle to hang on for hope.

If there's anything I feel we can take away from the death of Robin Williams it's the realization that even those who seem to be having fun and are making us laugh are just as likely to be dreading the day as they are ready to seize it.  We may be called upon at some point to be the one who helps to guide the depressed person out of darkness and into light.  All the more reason for us to act and move from a place of compassion rather than malice because we have no idea what tricks the brain may be playing on the other person to make them believe they are unworthy of Love.

I'm so sorry that Robin Williams was unable to find that Hope which I feel certain has found him and invited him to have a seat at the table, even with tears in the eyes.  May his family and all of us who will miss him be blessed with the memories that he made for us, both on and off-screen.

"All-knowing and eternal God, come to our help as we mourn for Robin, dead by his own hand.  We know only in part, we love imperfectly, and we fail to ease one another's pain as you intend.  But you are the God whose property is always to have mercy, and so we put our trust in you and ask the courage to go on; through our Savior Christ, who suffered for us, and whom you raised to new life.  Amen."--EOW 3, pg.55

(If you or someone close to you is thinking suicide, talk to someone first.  Please call 1-800-273-TALK(8255) and let another person guide you out of the dark.) 

 

   

Things Temporal and Things Eternal

Violence in Gaza, photo from The New Yorker

O God, the protector of all who trust in you, without whom
nothing is strong, nothing is holy: Increase and multiply upon
us your mercy; that, with you as our ruler and guide, we may so
pass through things temporal, that we lose not the things eternal;
through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you
and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen--Collect for Proper 12, BCP


One of my priest friends put out a statement on Facebook this morning, one of those "complete this phrase" kind of statements. 

"The kingdom of heaven is like...."

This was an obvious reference to tomorrow's Gospel lesson from Matthew where Jesus is wrapping up his "pick your parable" session involving scattering seeds, seeds and weeds, and finally a succession of "the kingdom of heaven is like" comparisons that include mustard seeds, yeast, pearls, hidden treasures, a whole net full of fish.  In the end, he looks at everyone and wants to know, "Do you get it?"  Dutifully, the faithful followers all nod, "Yes" and Jesus concludes, "Any scribe trained for the kingdom of heaven is like a master of a house who pulls out of his treasure what is old and what is new." 

Scribes?  Wait a minute.  Aren't the scribes "bad guys" in the narrative of Christ's ministry?  Yes, they are portrayed as among those who are constantly out to show up Jesus as a fraud.  But the scribes are also among the learned ones in the community.  And Jesus seems to be saying to his followers, "If you understand this stuff I've been saying, then you are like the learned ones who are trained for the kingdom of heaven (i.e. my kind of ministry)."  And then what are these scribes like?  Well, Jesus says, they're like the house master who has this treasure chest.  In it are things old and things new.  Does Jesus say to throw out the old?  Does Jesus say put aside the new?  No.  Jesus says the house master pulls out what is old and new.  Because this is the yin and yang that a "scribe trained for the kingdom of heaven" must have to follow in Christ's footsteps, and discern and pass through those things that are temporal while not losing sight of the eternal.

We have to do that all the time in our contemporary life.  A prime example is what one person said to my friend's posting.  Obviously, this responder was another priest and was contemplating how a look at the nightly news these days hardly reveals the kingdom of heaven.  Fighting and death tolls rising as the conflict between Palestinians and Israelis wages on, fighting that now has friends pitted against friends on Facebook as American Jews clash with their non-Jewish associates who see the conflict in Gaza as a one-sided issue.  More airplanes are crashing mysteriously overseas.  Looting is happening at the sight of the downed passenger jet in Ukraine.  The militant group ISIS is terrorizing Christians and some Muslims in northern Iraq.  Here at home, we are often treated to news of sports stars committing battery; executions that go awry because the lethal drugs worked too slowly to kill an inmate; jingoistic protests at our borders against children fleeing violence in their home countries in Central America.  Spend enough half-hours every night with just those headlines alone and it's hard to see where one can find a good comparison to the kingdom of heaven in all of that.

I don't know what that particular priest plans to say, but my answer to that post was to admit that--yes--given the news, it would be tough to talk about "the kingdom of heaven" in those circumstances.  But all of the things we see on the nightly news, the horrors and the tragedies, are never the full picture.  Even amidst the fighting in Gaza, there are Israeli and Palestinians who really are committed to peace, and really do want the rockets and shelling to stop.  For every person screaming at refugee children in buses, there are many others who are looking to find ways to address a humanitarian crisis.   And there are men in the NFL who know that it's alright to tackle another man on a football field, but it is not alright to raise your fist to your fiancee.   To me, there are signs of the eternal that flicker in the spaces in-between these stories of brokenness and trouble in our world.  In that sense, I would say, the kingdom of heaven is like the aid worker who continues to bring food and medicine to the wounded and those being displaced because of war and civil unrest.

The eternal truth is always there...even when our temporal temper tantrums seem to gain all the media attention.   And we must live with both those truths.  The task before us, if we are going to be like that scribe trained for the kingdom of heaven, is to remain in contact with our Eternal Source to know the difference between what is the new and the old.

Ups and Downs

This past week has been a rollercoaster ride on the news front.

There was much celebration and rejoicing at the news that the Church of England has finally said, "Yes," to women becoming bishops.  However, there is a caveat: if a congregation objects to a female see, they can request oversight from a male bishop.  And the seeds of likely schism begin to be sowed. Still, there is something to be joyful about.  As the Reverend Elizabeth Kaeton of "Telling Secrets" aptly noted: the Church of England has dipped a big toe into the baptismal font of the 20th century.  And those in the Southeastern United States say, "Bless their hearts!"

As you might imagine, this caused much venomous grumbling and declaring the Church of England apostate and all kinds of other nastiness coming from the Anglican Church of North America and their lot.  A Facebook friend, and fellow Episcopalian who is attending St. John's in Tallahassee, made the mistake of visiting the ACNA sites and seeing, first-hand, what hate they harbor toward the Episcopal Church, and anyone who believes women... and by extension the LGBT faithful...have a place in the church.  He noted that St. John's suffered a very painful schism back in 2005 when the rector marched out on a Sunday with many of the most wealthy and well-connected members of the congregation to start his own church.  Seeing the commentary on the CoE vote only served to rip the scab off the wound of that event for him.   Like with so much that makes headlines, my friend had seen the ugliness and recalled the pain as if it were yesterday that this split had occurred.  

But it wasn't yesterday: it was on October 2, 2005.  And, as I responded to him, that was the day that the chains that had barred so many faithful queer people, me and him included, came off the doors of St. John's.  Terrible, awful, rotten-to-the-core event that it was, that split had to happen, in my opinion, if St. John's Episcopal Church was going to be saved from its long bath in the sinful waters of homophobia.  The place was burning with anger and rage toward the Episcopal Church, and there was an air of suspicion that hung over every conversation in the place.  So it was time for the fire to be extinguished.  And out of those ashes came new life.  It took time but today that parish is doing very well. 

Also doing well has been the fight for marriage equality in Florida and elsewhere.  A Monroe County Circuit Court judge found Florida's discrimination against lesbian and gay couples getting married is unconstitutional.  The Tenth Circuit Court of Appeals also upheld marriage equality in Oklahoma.  But even with these victories, the opponents of marriage equality are still fighting on, appealing the decisions, forcing more delays of the inevitable.  The same day that the Florida case happened, the rest of the world had their eyes on the downing of Malaysian Airlines Flight 17, en route to Kuala Lumpur from Amsterdam.   A third of the passengers on that flight were activists, scientists and some of the top researchers in the field of HIV/AIDS.   The plane was apparently attacked with a ground to air missile launched from just inside the border of Ukraine, an area that has been rocked by the Russian invasion of the country.  And as information dribbles out, it appears the Russians are likely responsible for this horrendous act that has killed many engaged in a humanitarian effort to relieve suffering in Africa and Asia.  

This evening, as I sat at dinner with friends celebrating a birthday, I happened to go to my phone in search of information about an event on Facebook. I was stunned to read that one of my friends from St. John's had passed away quite suddenly.  She had been ill, but this was unexpected.  I had to excuse myself from the table to go outside, pray, and cry, before I could head back into a joyful dinner.

Ups and downs.  Life and death.  Good news and bad news.  We all want things to be safe.  But even safety is an illusion.  Part of our journey of being alive and in the world is that we will experience life in abundance... and that means we're going to have unpleasant stuff happen in our private world.  The trick is to remember that no matter what: Good Friday is followed by Easter every year on the calendar.  There is a change that comes with that, but not every change is bad... and quite frequently, it's good.

Strap in.  The rollercoaster is still moving on the tracks!

The Trouble That's Brewing

This week, I've been gobsmacked at the news I've been hearing.

Apparently, a five-member, and all-male, majority of the United States Supreme Court has decided that not only are corporations considered "people," these bricks-and-mortar-over-the-internet-add-appropriate-sales-taxes-"people" have religious freedom, and can freely exercise their religious beliefs to opt out of portions of the mandated Affordable Care Act; namely, no birth control coverage for female employees... but coverage of male erectile dysfunction drugs is OK.

Putting aside what anyone thinks or believes about abortion and birth control, this is a dangerous precedent that the high court is establishing.  As I understand it, what these five men are saying is that any corporate CEO can claim "religious freedom" to skirt laws that he or she doesn't like because now a "closely held for-profit business" is an extension of the CEO's "personhood."

And who is most likely to invoke this "religious freedom"?  Businesses such as Hobby Lobby, who say paying for contraception violates their "Christian" values.

As I attempted to make sense of all of that, with the fast and furious opinions flying on Facebook, I found myself engaged in a lengthy phone conversation with a young man from Southwest Georgia. His parents, upon learning of his homosexuality, have thrown him out of their house, cut-off contact with him and are forbidding him from having any contact with other family members.  And, in the course of listening to this scared young man, he told me how many times his parents or his grandmother or his  aunt were telling him that he was "going to Hell" because the "Bible says this is an abomination!" They believe this because, they say, they're Christians.

And then there was the news last night of the angry mobs of white people who blocked a road and screamed at the people inside three buses.  The buses were carrying mostly undocumented immigrant children from Central America.  This gathering in a small town in California could have been South Boston in the 1970s, or the Deep South in the 1960s.  How ironic that this story ran on the same night that we, as a nation, were marking 50 years since the signing of the Federal Voting Rights Act designed to allow blacks the right to vote.

This scene, looking so similar to the violence African-Americans and the Freedom Riders faced in Alabama and elsewhere, is being played out again... this time with Central Americans in a Southern California town.  No doubt, some of those screaming the loudest at these children were probably doing so with a crucifix hanging around their necks.

Christianity is in trouble.  Not because of atheists or non-Christians.  Not because there is rampant discrimination and persecution of Christians in the United States.  Not because gay and lesbian people are getting married.  Christianity is in trouble because Christ, who should have been resurrected and ascended, is still being crucified by the very people who say that they are His followers.  Each time people who claim the mantle of Christ exhibit behavior like screaming at children, throwing teenagers out of their homes, and denying female employees a health benefit because it offends the religious beliefs of a company owner, it is the bang-bang-bang of the nails into the Body of Christ.  Worse yet, these "christians" become the face of Christ that the media is more than happy to share with a public that feeds on cynicism and division.  I've said it before that Christians are the ones waging war on Christians in this country.  It's one thing to say that Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior; it is an entirely different thing to behave and live a life that actually models the ministry of Christ.

As often happens, I was struck in yesterday's Morning Prayer with the words from Psalm 119:

Let my cry come before you, O LORD;     give me understanding, according to your word.

	Let me live, and I will praise you,     and let your judgments help me.
	I have gone astray like a sheep that is lost;  search for your servant, for I do not forget your commandments.

As I watch and listen to all this anti-Christ behavior by my fellow sisters and brothers in Christ, I am grieved.  It feels to me as if those who profess a belief in Jesus Christ have gone astray like lost sheep, and not only do they need Christ to come looking for them, they need to start looking for Christ in the eyes of the people they are cursing.  How is it Christian to scream at people?  What part of one's Christian belief is under attack if other people get a prescription for birth control?  Again, from Morning Prayer, we heard the story of Balaam and Balak.   Balaam was supposed to curse the Israelites, but God placed a blessing on his tongue:

"How can I curse whom God has not cursed?
How can I denounce those whom the Lord has not denounced?" (Num.23:8)

I think about the situation with the19 year-old who has parents and family who have turned their backs on him. Despite the things said to him, I told this young man he isn't going to Hell.  God has not cursed him; his parents have done that.  And by doing so, they have denied the Christ in him.  Same thing with the immigrant children being screamed at as they sat inside a bus which had driven from Texas to California to a processing center.  And to add more financial burden to female workers by denying them a portion of their health care coverage is not something that has come from God either.  For a "closely held" corporation to wrap itself in religion over that issue, and be allowed to do it, is mind-boggling.

Christians who keep asserting that their religion is under attack have no earthly idea what it is to really have their lives threatened for their religious beliefs.  Their children are not kidnapped and forced into adopting another religion.  Their books are not banned or burned.  Their homes are not invaded and their women raped.  No, the "christians" in this country are claiming that because this is a pluralistic society and they must share the gifts that God have given all people, they are under attack.  This makes a mockery of those who are truly under threat for their religious beliefs, while denying the seed of God that is present in all others. I don't remember that being in the Gospel.

I looked ahead to the Collect of the Day, Proper 9:

"O God, you have taught us to keep all your commandments by loving you and our neighbor: Grant us the grace of your Holy Spirit that we may be devoted to you with our whole heart, and united to one another with pure affection; through Jesus Christ our Lord who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit one God for ever and ever. Amen." 

Seems like a good starting point for the reflection and return to Christ necessary to save Christianity from itself!

Sideline Stupidity and Nothing More

Dear Seminole fans: enough with the castigating of ESPN's Heather Cox.  I am not joining your Facebook page calling on the sports network to fire their sideline reporter.  I am not still stewing over her line of questioning of quarterback Jameis Winston.  Time to do as your quarterback did: move on.

Ms. Cox has earned the ire of FSU football fans for her post-game interview of the freshman football star.  The team had just shoved Duke all over the field to continue its quest for a National Championship title.  Winston had performed pretty well, although not nearly as sharp as he'd been during the rest of the season.   And this is not surprising, given that the young man had been through a very public, daily examination of an event that happened on December 7, 2012, in which Winston had allegedly sexually assaulted a woman. After three long weeks of having the state attorney's office look into the case (which only became public when a reporter from Tampa made an inquiry), the determination was that there would be no charges filed.  This took the proverbial monkey off Winston's back, and now sportswriters, who suddenly had concern for the 'moral character' of athletes, could feel OK about voting for Winston for the Heisman Trophy.  Meanwhile, from what I have heard in the news reports, the young woman, whom the Tallahassee police supposedly advised not to file charges in this 'football town', is no longer at FSU.

You would think this would be a "case closed" situation.  And it pretty much is.  Except that Ms. Cox brought it to the fore in the post-game interview with Winston.  After asking one question about the game, every subsequent question was about "the investigation." Winston kept attempting to move the narrative back to the game, but Ms. Cox kept pressing him.  She asked him what he learned from the whole episode, and he told her he had learned he needed to grow up and "have some maturity."  Fair enough, but Cox wanted to know more about why he'd stayed silent during "the investigation."  It was at this point that Jameis Winston decided to exhibit his new-found maturity: he turned and walked away, with Ms. Cox yelling after him a "Congratulations!"

As a former broadcast journalist, my own take on that interview was that once she got him to say the bit about his maturity, she needed to wrap things up with some talk about their next steps to a National Championship and be done with it.  Sideline interviews are not 60-Minutes; they're about 60-90 seconds.  She was absolutely within reason to bring up the events that had been surrounding him because that is part of the Jameis Winston story, sad as that is.  And I would have thrown the penalty flag for her not knowing when it's time to keep the interview going forward and not going back over an already dead subject.  In football speak, this was "Roughing the passer."

But 'Noles fans are demanding that this not just be an ejection from the sidelines for Ms. Cox; they're calling for her to be fired.

And the message to reporters becomes this: we love our athletes, and you need to leave them alone!  What about your President? Congressional representatives?  Your governor?  Your state legislators?  The private business owner who won't serve blacks or gays?  Are reporters supposed to look past their flaws, their foibles, their troubles?  The public has an insatiable appetite for every drunken, drugged up stupid thing any actor or actress in Hollywood does, no matter their age or maturity.  Why should a college athlete be treated any differently?

I feel for Heather Cox.  If there had been a Facebook during the days that I was reporting for Florida Public Radio, there might have been a "String up Susan Gage" page started for any number of times that I asked a person in a position of authority and power an uncomfortable question that their fan base didn't like.   I was aware of the phone calls made to the local public radio station, complaining about me being everything from a "gay agenda pushing bitch" to a woman with a "personal vendetta" against Publix (that one always floored me since I shop at Publix.)  The Development Director in 1996 was horrified that I had done a reporter's commentary on witnessing an execution and that WFSU-FM was playing it during the morning rush hour when he was in the middle of a pledge drive.  He didn't demand my resignation, but he was apparently having a fit and fretting that my not-so-happy news report was going to silence the phones, and there was a level of "How dare you?!" in his tone.   Even the press staff of Democratic Governor Lawton Chiles went after me because I asked a question about a bill that would have revolutionized how Florida dealt with the AIDS crisis.  The House and Senate versions of the bill contradicted each other in a major way; Chiles' staff had put out a release indicating he supported both measures.  The Governor kept waffling in his answers to questions about all of this until I finally said, "Governor, you don't seem comfortable with this bill?"  Chiles responded, "I think you're right, you're absolutely right."  That began a barrage of phone calls from Chiles' press office to my boss, calling into question whether I really had understood the Governor's answer, and whether I could accurately report the story.  It was relentless and disturbing.  Thanks be to God that there was no social media to add to my misery.

I understand 'Noles fans being upset.  But Ms. Cox is paid to ask questions, and sometimes the subject matter isn't always nice, and that is no reason to call for her head.  Jameis Winston did exactly what he should have done and has every right to do: he walked away without another word.  There is no law that says he must answer any journalist's questions ever.  He showed the maturity he talked about.  He has moved on to thinking about Pasadena.  So should we.

Joys and Sorrows

As with any lead-in period to a holiday, it seems that time speeds up, and there's no chance to slow down and do such important things as post on one's blog! :-)

Yesterday was definitely one of those whirlwind days.   Fortunately for me, my schedule was totally clear which meant I could go here, there, and everywhere, without much trouble.  My day started with the morning realization that our new state legislature would be sworn in that morning.  Normally, I would thank God for deliverance from having to be there as a reporter.  But this day was different.  Because, on this day, Florida would finally have two openly-gay state representatives seated in the House chamber.   I got out my some of my best clothes, and trudged up the hill to the state Capitol building, quietly humming an antiphon we sing at Easter:

"On this day, the Lord has acted.  Let us rejoice and be glad in it."

And I was!  I was smiling.  I was laughing.  And I was enjoying myself in a way that I never have in all the years that I have entered that ugly structure where sausage is made at the expense of real lives.  On the way in, I met the parents of a newly-elected legislator who unseated one of the rising stars of the Tea Party-infused state Republican party. 

"Oh, thank you for having a son, and congratulations!" I said.  They laughed.

There are advantages to having once been a member of the Fourth Estate.  Namely, nobody questioned me when I fell in with the reporter pack to gain access to the House floor.  I found one of our two new gay boys, State Representative Joe Saunders and his partner Donald, and snapped a quick picture of them.  I gave Joe a big, long hug, and promised him that the community was there to help him however he needed it.

Such an amazing accomplishment as having out-and-proud members of the Florida House is a sign that "the times they-are-a-changin'."  

In stark contrast, the annual Transgender Day of Remembrance is the reminder that we have not fully realized equality here in the United States or certainly around the world.   After stopping in briefly at a church function happening at the home of our associate rector, I headed out to the local LGBT community center to listen to speakers and bear witness to the candle lighting ceremony.  With each votive candle, we heard the names, ages, and circumstances surrounding the death of a trans individual, killed in the past year.  There were 38 names in all, and those are just of the ones we know.  Many of the people had been mutilated in some way, almost as if the killers were so appalled by the person's outward appearance that they felt the need to destroy it.  As people placed their candles around the heart, I repeated in silence my own private prayers for each of these souls snuffed out by transphobia violence.   I thought about the resurgence of the "kill the gays" bill in Uganda.  I thought of trans friends I have made in Tallahassee, and the educational Voices of Witness documentary, "Out of the Box" about the transgender people of faith in the Episcopal Church.  And I thought how much further we still need to go if we are going to live into the vows of our baptismal covenant to "strive for justice and peace and respect the dignity of every human being."

So many have died and, are still dying, for the right to live and love in peace.  As we celebrate the accomplishment of LGBT people finding a place at the table of state politics, we must also continue our commitment to raise up all people and refuse to make peace with attempts to put us in an early grave.  We must stay on the battlefield, and we must have the voices of others joining us in this race after God's promise that all will be included in the kingdom and have eternal life.