Promises

Letters to My Adult Children: On Blame & Privilege & Seeking the Best

There is an interconnectedness to life, to be sure. I believe we have eternity to figure out Chaos Theory and we still won't be done. The whole concept of it boggles my mind. Ultimately, it argues that I cannot help but be affected by the choices and actions of others. Knowing this to be true, most of the time we try not to be assholes. We try to do right by others. I hope that is one of the lessons you learned from your Mom and me very early on. The most famous but, less clear version of this reads, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." 

I know that my choices, when you were young, to betray your Mom and you, still have profound impacts on how you navigate life. But, please hear me. In the same way that I cannot use the fact that my mother sexually abused me to excuse my rancid, narcissistic choices that hurt you; you will be wrong if you choose to use my choices -- that did very real damage to you -- to excuse any poor choices you make in life. They are your choices. 

You see, a lack of privilege is never an excuse. In fairness, there are multiple kinds of privilege. There is "personal privilege." For example, people who were not sexually abused by their primary attachment figures have privilege that I'll never know. People who were not ripped from all that they knew culturally and were transplanted as toddlers into a culture that was foreign and confusing for them, have privilege that I and nearly every third culture kid will never understand. Conversely, as a 6'3" tall, not-ugly man, I have privilege that a 5'4" man or an unattractive and unintelligent man will never know. 

Though the lines are blurry, there is also "systemic privilege" Systemic privilege is privilege which is systematized. Men have privilege over women in our culture. We live in a patriarchal society. It is hard to deny this simple fact. Some of this is strictly biological. Men tend to be physically stronger than women. There are things we can lift, reach, carry, haul, and move that women simply can't. We are physically more intimidating than women. Probably because of the physical strength differential, men have subjugated women throughout history. This is systemic privilege. Other examples of privilege are race, sexuality, and economic privilege. Let's briefly acknowledge the historical reality of each:

• Race -- The subjugation of Black people is not news. Europeans bought slaves from African slave traders, imported them, and used them to create wealth for themselves. Those Europeans passed their ill-begotten wealth onto us, their descendants. The generation that immediately proceeded mine then passed Jim Crow laws that made it next to impossible for the black community to gain an economic foothold. They did this to protect us -- their children -- from being threatened by those that their parents had enslaved. Later, we legalized abortion, placing abortion clinics in black communities, and convincing the black community that they would be better off if they killed their children. Despite any arguments to the contrary, abortion was born in racist ideology and eugenics philosophy. Finally, we created a drug war that was designed to imprison black men and steal fathers from their children. The drug war allowed a prison industry to develop where white people got rich by imprisoning their black neighbors, all for victimless crimes. There is no way anyone can deny the historical systemic racist policies we legalized and institutionalized. I have not included the fact that we excluded black men who fought and died in our country's wars from the GI Bill and housing programs or the redlining practices that stopped blacks from buying properties they wanted and which allowed banks to charge them higher interest rates on any loans they took out. I also didn't include stories of how we simply killed successful black communities. Our nation institutionalized racism. This is systemic racism.
• Sexual Identity -- A homosexual lifestyle was outlawed in many states until well into the 2nd half of the 20th century. Indeed, homosexuality was listed in the Diagnostics and Statistics Manual as a pathology until the mid-1970s. People could be fired for or not hired for jobs simply because they had a same-sex attraction. The system was rigged against them. This is a systemic privilege. Straight people didn't have to worry about being fired for liking members of the opposite sex and men typically didn't have to worry about philandering costing them their jobs. Women did, however. The system's and culture's rules were stacked against the homosexual community
• Economic Privilege -- OJ Simpson was found not guilty because he was wealthy and was able to use his wealth to work the system. Harvey Weinstein and Jeffrey Epstein walked around as free men even though they were clearly sexual predators and needed to be imprisoned, simply because they had money. Lori Laughlin received a much lighter sentence than someone without means would receive for the same crime. Money gets people out of trouble and ostensibly is a license to break the law. Money buys access to politicians. Money can create wars and blackmail communities. This is perhaps the biggest area of systemic injustice in America. Justice is supposedly blind, but the wealthy always figure out how to tip the scale. The law is not upheld equally. This is systemic privilege.

I point these out because there is injustice in the system. Not everyone starts at the same place in this race we call life. This is not in question. You have certain advantages being born to your Mom and me, growing up in a home where you knew you were loved and both of us were involved in your life. You didn't face economic hardship, but neither were you handed everything on a silver platter. You also had disadvantages: Your Mother and I divorced. For the first years of your life, I was caught in active behavioral addiction. 

As you move into life, you have choices. You can blame me (or some other outside factor) for your struggles, "My Da was an addict! What do you expect!" Or, you can acknowledge the reality that you are the child of an addict, take appropriate cautions, and move on with your life to make up for the deficiencies I gave you. You are not limited by my choices. You are only limited by the choices you make in response to those choices. I believe strongly that you actually have a leg up because you grew up in a recovery home where you were taught a new way to live that other kids didn't have access to. You learned about acceptance and the importance of honesty. Those are items of privilege that I gave you that remain hidden from typical lists of what privilege is. We were able to have and are still able to have conversations that other families only dream of. That is the best kind of privilege.

Critical Theory argues that all of life is about power. Power = privilege. Critical theorists argue that there will always be a struggle for power between the privileged and those without privilege. The trouble with the theory as Woody Allen pointed out in his 1973 comedy, Sleeper is that as soon as power is achieved by those without it, there will be a new struggle between the newly disenfranchised and the newly powerful. Critical Theory ultimately makes power into a "need." I don't think it could be any more wrong. We don't need power to achieve what we truly want. We need connection, and connection often requires us to give up our power to maintain a connection to the other whom we love. Only when we get this paradoxical truth will we truly find that which we truly seek. 

Sheryl Crow wrote, "It's not having what you want; it's wanting what you have." ("Soak up the Sun," C'mon, C'mon, 2002). And, in the end, that is what I pray for you: contentedness-or peace (knowing it's all good and being able to rest); joy (knowing its all good and having the ability to enjoy it with others); love (a long-term connection to another where you are understood, accepted, and desired, and where you return the same); and, hope (knowing in the depths of your soul that you and the ones you love are gonna be ok in the end).

You can't get there if you blame life, others, God, or the universe for the state of your life. You can't get there if you view life through a comparative lens of what others have vs what you have. You can't get there if you give your power away and assume that you can't have what you really want. 

Ultimately, Please don't seek the lesser goods: power, being right, control, material possessions, privilege. Rather, seek the great: Peace, joy, love, and hope. When you find them, you will end life complete, whole, and satisfied.

Letters to My Adult Children: Miscellaneous Ramblings - If I am Disturbed... April 2020

Remember the three-legged stool I taught you? I learned those legs in 12-step recovery - not grad school. One of the three legs is: "If I am disturbed, the problem is in me." This letter is about this truism.

I imagine in a different era and if you were different ages Mary Jane and Brad would be Aunt MJ & Uncle Brad. They are really good friends to Pabs and me. One day Mary Jane and I were talking about the evolution of our therapists' guild and the devolution of our school.

The Seattle School taught me so much: The idea of the I/Thou relationship, Esther Meeks' covenant epistemology, a possible understanding (which has become my understanding) of how the mind works, all about shame, the difference between niceness and kindness, a new Biblical theology, a fleshed-out theology of freedom, the concept of "And" instead of "But," a theology of Holy Saturday, a fleshed-out theology of the Imago Dei, attachment theory, play therapy and the importance of play, and that I need to create space for intersections of thoughts and ideas to become more fully engaged (I learned as an undergrad that ideas of consequences). 

As Mary Jane and I compared notes about our alma mater and the state of our guild (The ACA), she was not surprised/surprised to learn that our grad school was not welcoming to "non-progressive" thinkers; and that there was an underground of students that learned to simply keep our mouths shut in order not to be ostracized, labeled, called names and attacked by other students. One would think that Esther Meeks' ideas would stop some of the blatant condemnation that marks so much of the intercourse surrounding how one approaches life, and indeed I think it did mitigate some of the fallout. But, it certainly didn't stop the prejudice.

I want to be very careful because while I was there, the faculty and administration were rarely condemning of other voices and ideas. The condemnation was primarily limited to the student body. And, to this day, I do not know of a school that teaches counseling/psychology where it is possible to get the level of instruction I received and not have to face a progressive fundamentalist epistemology of black and white thinking that effectively destroys dialogue with other ideologies and perspectives. The idea of holding the "&" is an ideal that I was taught at The Seattle School. And, yet, while the Seattle School holds it as well as any counseling grad school you can name -- it still fails miserably. Institutions are rarely perfect. 

But beyond that, Mary Jane stated that our therapists' guild is losing our way and we are becoming social workers. We are not helping people change, adapt, and become more resilient (a traditional role of a therapist), as much as we are pointing out and working to change the injurious system (the traditional role of a social worker). This is important because injustice will always surround us, no matter the ideological system we create. Woody Allen pointed this out admirably in his movie, "Sleeper."

The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous tells the story of a doctor who knew that the problem was always, "out there." He believed if only the world would be fixed, he'd be OK. He learned in AA that such a belief is errant. If "the problem" is "out there," individuals give away their power to find joy and peace. This is why AA teaches its members the serenity prayer, "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can't change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." Only by understanding what we can and cannot change can we begin to find peace.

We can only change ourselves. We can't change others. We can't lay our hope in systems changing in order for justice to run down and people to find wholeness. Wholeness is not found in external sources. Wholeness is discovered when we can assimilate the exiled parts of ourselves, which we want to ignore, and "re-member" them differently, interact with them compassionately and become whole instead of remaining fragmented and broken. Shit guys, whole books could be written fleshing out this paragraph! I guess that is why I went to grad school; in order to begin to embody the truths I just articulated and help others do so. This is why I am a therapist and a rebel for love

 

Letters to My Adult Children - The First Among Heroes

Yesterday, as I was driving to pick up TL for racketball, "Hero" by Steve Taylor came up on my playlist:

 

I began thinking of my work, my story, my desire for a Ph.D. and my need to hone down my topic. I don't remember when I first heard Taylor's song, it was a long, long time ago. It immediately struck a chord with me. Growing up, I always wanted to be a hero. As an adult, I always wanted to be your hero. I wanted to be a hero to everyone close to me. I knew that if I could be a hero, I'd be loved; I'd not merely be me.

So, I've gotten lost in stories of heroes. As I got older, my heroes became more nuanced. And, my understanding of the "hero's journey" has also become more sophisticated. Joseph Campbell identified the Hero's Journey back in 1949. Writers have used his template to create hero stories ever since. While countless people have written on this topic, I am using the template from the people at the Reedsy Blog (https://blog.reedsy.com/heros-journey/) to make writing this easy.

As I drove to pick up TL, I began to think of the Hero's Journey in light of the Jesus story and many other Biblical Stories I grew up idolizing. My phraseology in the last sentence is incredibly important. I idolized the stories. I unconsciously defined salvation as, "becoming a hero." I had to be a hero! My graphic novel bibles took me to places of fantasy around the biblical stories. Now I wonder, if these incredible stories end up being twisted in our souls and are given death by Evil to create more shame than light.

The hero's journey starts in the ordinary; what Reedsy calls, "the mundane." It is the phrase, "I was born a poor child..." Jesus was born in a manger and laid in a cow trough. King David was rejected and was a shepherd doing the most humble of tasks. Moses was born to a Jewish slave family and hidden in the weeds. Gideon was cowering from fear. Ruth was a Moabite of no repute. Rahab was a hooker. Mary was a simple girl betrothed to a carpenter or stonecutter.

After humble beginnings, there is, " a call." In the Jesus story, this occurs at his baptism, "This is my Son, with whom I am well-pleased." Following the call, there is traditionally a rejection of that call. Think of Gideon and his requirement of a "fleece." The Jesus story doesn't have this traditional "rejection." However, think about how the different writers set up His story. Everyone knows he is the Messiah from his virgin birth, royal lineage. Questions arise though when Herod sends troops to kill all the male children under two. Remember Moses' story and Pharoah doing the same thing? Mary, Joseph, and Jesus become refugees, escaping to Egypt. So, there is that interruption and threat to the call. But then, after the call, Jesus doesn't start teaching and calling his own disciples immediately, He goes into the wilderness where he fasts for 40 days. At the end of His time in the wilderness, Satan comes and tempts him three times. These are temptations that we use to reject our own calling. Only Jesus doesn't reject the call because he is the "first among heroes." As I am thinking about this, I am thinking this is one of the first places that boys trying to be a hero in the vein of Jesus begin to face their own shame, and then begin living out of their shame.

The next step in the Hero journey is to meet the mentor who will help the hero overcome and then there is an event where the curtain is pulled back and they enter into the arena, seen as the hero that they were born to be. In the Jesus story, the mentor is the Holy Spirit who descended on Jesus like a dove. She becomes the connection point for Jesus through the rest of the gospels.¹ John makes note of Jesus' stage entrance. This is the famous event where Jesus turns water into wine at the wedding. The miracle serves as an announcement to the reader, Jesus has accepted his role as a hero

Stage six is typically the bulk of the hero story. It is where they find allies, discover their enemies and the obstacles they must overcome and develop the close friendships that will help them cross the lexicon. In the Jesus story, this section involves the calling of the disciples and the Pharisees and Sadducees' introduction as the villains of the story. It involves Jesus casting out demons and healing the sick, the lame and the blind. It includes his teachings and personal interactions. John's gospel is different here because his longest section comes next. 

The next section is where the hero approaches his biggest fight, drawing close to their own personal crisis. For Jesus, this is the last week of his life, where he knows he is about to die and he doesn't like it one bit. In the Church, we remember this time in Jesus' life as Holy Week -- the week leading up to Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday. You have to feel this movement. It is where you come face to face with your humanity and brokenness. It is the part of our story where we have to choose to walk through our fear. It is the place that courage is most seen and felt. In many ways, it is the place where we see ourselves becoming or failing in the hero journey. the question here is, "Will he push through? Will he make it?" It is not the moment of crisis, but the foreboding before the crisis.

In the Jesus story, the crisis comes in his arrest, trial, betrayal, and crucifixion. This moment is the reason for his existence. In it, there is no glory -- only defeat and hopelessness. This complete defeat is perhaps the reason the Jesus story stands above all other stories. He dies defeated. And, with his death comes complete despair, emptiness, and darkness.

But, in a hero's story, there is a moment of triumph. In the Jesus story, it is resurrection - an empty tomb. The restoration of hope and life, not just for him, but for the world he came to save. He wins!

Or, does he? In hero stories, there are roads left to travel. There is often an awakened enemy or incompleted business. In the Jesus story, the gospel writers - indeed the writers of the rest of the New Testament believe that much of this road is to be walked by those who follow the crucified, risen Messiah. We are told that we are his reconstituted body that is to finish the work he set out to do. We are to be his hands and feet for a broken world. So, in the Jesus story, we are in this part of the story. The story is still being written. Complete resurrection won't occur until we experience it personally. Once we have, Jesus is promised to return to create a new world void of pain, suffering, and death.

Why does this matter at all? In my thinking right now it matters because as we tell the story boys, in particular, are left yearning to be a hero they cannot be. We all want to be just like Jesus. Those of us who feel this calling most, often become pastors. The struggle is that we know ourselves to be frauds; and/or we work to create our own deaths in order to imitate Jesus' hero journey. We have to fail and be resurrected to be like him. So we unconsciously destroy ourselves to become the hero we know we are to be. This twisted idea of wanting to be a hero in the mold of Jesus comes from a place of shame rather than a place of holiness or a desire to be in relationship. We call out for resurrection, hoping to be found worthy of being the hero we long to be. Listen to the echoes of this in the words of Todd Agnew:

1. Please note that the Spirit is nearly always referred to by the biblical writers with female words in both Hebrew and Greek. Sometimes it is hard because in English we don't have feminine and masculine words like in Spanish or Hebrew or Greek. If a man is my friend and I speak Spanish, I refer to them as "mi amigo." If a woman is my friend in Spanish I refer to her as, "mi amiga." In the same way, the language used around the Spirit is nearly always feminine. The language around the Father is nearly always masculine. So when I refer to the Father, I use masculine terms; when I refer to the Spirit, I use feminine terms, and when I refer to the Trinity I use the newly resurrected and minted, "they." 

 

Letters to My Adult Children: Look for the Good - February 2019

In 1994,  a weird and wonderful spiritual event began. The BBC labeled it the Toronto Blessing and the name stuck. For many, it was the stuff of a horror show. For others, it was a movement of the Spirit of God they had prayed for their whole lives. People got on their hands and knees and barked like dogs or fell over while convulsing violently. Others experienced miraculous physical healings. The conservative church watched it in horror. Mainline churches were bemused. And charismatics and Pentecostals flocked to it as if it were Mecca. they hoped to be a part of something they saw as a miraculous movement of God.

During that time, an intellectual, mainline Presbyterian minister named Bob Ekblad who spent much of his life working with the poorest of the poor in Honduras and then, upon returning to the USA, worked with men just-released from prison was invited to go to Toronto to experience the phenomena with a family member.

It wasn't his thing. He really didn't want to go. He was a social justice guy and the Toronto movement had little or nothing to do with justice. Toronto was about a supernatural experience of God. For some reason, Ekblad ended up going. Before he went, he spent some time praying and was impressed that though he might see 100 things he couldn't stand, he needed to look for "one good thing." He listened and went to Toronto keeping his eyes open for one good thing. And, while there, the Holy Spirit moved in him in ways he couldn't explain.

He was changed because he looked for the one good thing. He still works for justice, among those on the margins, but now when he lays hands on people to pray with them, there is a power that can't be explained any other way than that it comes from God.

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I was at Hillsdale College in the fall of 1986 when Dad surprised me with a phone call. Remember this was before cell phones. We stood in the dorm's stairwells to talk to our family and friends on the payphone. There was one on each end of each floor in the dorm. My dormmate said, "Hurry, it is some sort of emergency." 

Dad explained that he and Mom rushed home to Portland from Idaho, canceling one of their evangelistic missions, because Mom was in incredible pain. Once home, the doctors performed emergency exploratory surgery and discovered tumors in Mom's abdomen that were pressing on her spinal cord and major organs. Dad told me that they were the size of my fists -- bigger than a softball. They closed her up because it would have been too dangerous to remove the tumors given their proximity to her spine and vital organs. In another week, Mom & Dad were scheduled to be in Vermont for more meetings. Dad wanted to cancel because Mom couldn't go. She didn't want him to. He needed to go. We arranged for me to fly out to meet Dad in her stead since the dates coincided with my fall break. My fraternity pitched in money so I could buy the emergency ticket.

There wasn't really much hope for Mom. The doctors told her they would do what they could and scheduled a catscan in order to pinpoint the radiation that they would shoot at her. They weren't talking about a cure. They were talking about doing the best that they could. The tumors they had seen during surgery were simply too big. The catscan was scheduled for the Thursday I arrived in Vermont to join Dad. The week before Mom called their pastor, Dwight Steele and asked, "Do you believe James 5?" Now, James 5 tells sick people to call for elders to pray for them in order that they may be healed. Conservative Baptists typically didn't believe in the miraculous, and typically didn't follow through on Jame's teaching.

Being crafty, Mom knew Dwight couldn't say no to her question because he couldn't say he didn't believe Scripture. In essence, she tricked him. And to his credit, scared as he acknowledged himself being, he studied, prayed and called the elders together to pray for Mom on the Wednesday night before her catscan (the day before I flew to join Dad). Mom had to wait a long time top be prayed for that night, because Dwight questioned each of the elders, looking for uncovered sin in their lives before finally calling Mom into his office to pray for her. I don't know what anyone expected out of that time together but the next day, over my Dad's objections that there would be no news, I called Mom to find out what was going on. She announced, they can't find the tumors, they are gone. "The report says that there is a slight swelling of the lymph nodes,  and we can't rule out the possibility of lymphoma." Mom was healed, in part, because Dwight was faithful.

That same man, a longtime pastor at Montavilla Baptist Church completely screwed up when it came time to deal with me and my sexual sin and double life. His handling of the situation couldn't have done more harm to me, the church or the gospel if he'd wanted it to. He was in over his head, couldn't acknowledge it, and reacted rather than responded to the news of my sexual betrayals. He became so intent on trying to read Scripture literally that he missed its message and ended up twisting it so that it said what he wanted it to say. This gave him a license to publicly read a list of my sins during a "worship service." His friend at Portland Foursquare followed his lead, also reading a list of my sins out publicly. I think he'd still argue he was right to have done so. In case you were wondering, he wasn't. He chose the action because of his shame rather than my sin.

My family had been at Montavilla Baptist since 1969 and Mum and dad were universally loved. Mom and Dad were power brokers in the church and potential threats to any pastor coming in to shepherd the church. Pops knew that Dwight viewed our whole family as a threat. And he warned me to be careful. Dwight could be caring and fantastic as well as vindictive and cruel. Out of his respect for Dad, he went with Timothy, Dad, and me to pour out Mom's ashes at Ecola State Park, caring for us in amazing ways. Later, he allowed me to preach at my Dad's service and helped me make wise decisions surrounding that service so that I didn't alienate Timothy further and cause a wider schism between us. And then he'd do something crazy like take the elders of the church without seeking any discernment to Timothy's house to perform an exorcism because I stayed there. If there were evil spirits in the house when they prayed, it had more to do with my brother's choices than mine. He was seeing a dominatrix at the time. So Dwight practiced evil, and stupidity as well as kindness and love, all at the same time.

In my anger, I could only see his evil. In the wake of my blow out, he was one of the hardest of all the Church patriarch's for me to forgive. I seemed to be incapable of holding the good and the evil that resided in the man. And for me to heal, I needed to be able to do precisely that. I needed to see and remember the good as well as the evil that always seemed to blind me to the good. He was not as evil as I made up in my mind that he was. I had to consciously look for the good. I had to consciously choose to see it. SOmeone said, "there is a little good in the worst of us and a little bad in the best of us." My job is to see the good while acknowledging the evil. It is in that balance that I find freedom.

The biggest example of this is Mom. You know her story. She was an early pioneer in the women's movement in the church. She was the first person - male or female - to produce a weekly Christian radio show across Europe, She was a noted Christian women's speaker. She was a better preacher than most of the men of her day -- certainly better than Dad. Her Bible study notes are amazing. She was a poet and a performer. Hundreds, if not thousands of people found life, meaning, freedom and authenticity because she was a faithful warrior, fighting against the darkness, And, she sexually abused me in evil and horrific ways.

In spite of the horror of that, for me to be free, I need to see the "and" that allows for the good in her, Just like in the story, I told you about Dwight. I will begin with the good before citing the bad. I have to, in order to be sane. I chose to look for the good so that I can be free.

Without knowing it, most of my work in recovery has been the work of recognizing and holding the "&." I hold that my Mom was an amazing, wonderful woman who chose to act evilly. I hold that Dwight was a good man who chose evil. There are countless more stories I could tell. You have stories to tell as well.

I believe that God uses evil, pathology, and narcissistic people for good in other peoples' lives. God uses seemingly crazy things to impart His power. In discovering the good I find freedom. I look to find the image of God in the shit. When I find it, I find hope. Calling forth the image of God from the shit creates the Kingdom of God. that is why seeing the "shit and magnificence," in Paula was part of my wedding vows to her. We do well together for a lot of reasons but one of them is that we can hold the "crap and glory" (her phrase) and shit and magnificence (my phrase) that we see in ourselves and in the other.

So, for me, to be a Rebel for Love - A rebel for the Kingdom -  means that I do this work. I look for the good in the midst of the shit. In some crazy ways, this starting point is the fuel of my freedom. But I think that needs to be held for another letter.

You Don't Cry for Me

I’m the outcast - 

The one that always never belonged.

She did it to me...

 

"Are you kidding?

That doesn't happen."

 

 

The evils of which you speak are an everyday occurrence for you;

Which is precisely why they are so evil.

But mine hide in the shadows.

Mothers don’t do that.

And yet they do;

And we, their sons, suffer in silence. 

 

No one can see.

No one can hear.

No one wants to.

 

"It doesn’t really happen, does it?"

It happened to me.

 

My pain doesn’t matter somehow.

I’m 6’4” tall and over 300 lbs;

I’m a man’s man.

My bike roars.

My leather a warning to all.

I don’t have to fear when I walk into the bar.

I don't worry when I park my bike that there is no light.

 

It doesn’t really matter what my mother did to me.

I’m a big boy with all this privilege...

...So...

 

I suffer alone

 

My pain doesn’t matter.

No one talks about it.

No one researches it.

There is nothing out there! 

Look!

My abuse is an inconsequential blip on the screen.

 

In this fact, women steal privilege.

'Cause their pain is out there now. 

Everyone can see it. 

It is rightly laid bare before us all. 

And they are right!

Men abusing women has to end!

 

Me? I fuckin' sit on the pile of shit where I won’t bother anybody.

It’d be wrong to turn peoples' eyes from those who feel empowered to whisper or shout, “Me too!”

I’m sure, in all honesty, my Mom could and would shout with them. 

Maybe, that is part of the reason she did what she did.

And because I am not a woman, I can only nod into a void of silence, as I hear them shout,

“Me too.”

 

But I’m not fucking alone!

1 in 6, baby… At least that many.

It is probably more.

That's how many of my brothers were violated with me.

And though it may not sound like many;

It is in the fucking millions.

Next time you’re at church or a ballgame… count...

One out of every six male faces you see...

Their bodies resound with my whisper. 

 

We've been told, quite rightly, “me too,” isn't for us.

But we need to find a voice. 

I don’t hold out much hope.

But maybe, just maybe, you might see

 

'Cause, just like my Mom could say, “me too”

As she violated me to escape her own pain;

Men do too.

And we have no voice...

With no hope to gain one.

 

Our pain doesn’t really matter.

We just need to tough it out

While we sit as dead men our white horses:

Willed to stay there by those who need us to love them; 

Demanding us to be something more than we know ourselves capable of being. 

 

Look at my brave face.

You’ll never see my pain.

Most will never consider my sexual nightmare a possibility.

 

Besides, as a guy, I probably enjoyed it.

And, if the truth be known, I did.

I walked to her room, not the other way around!

That is my shame.

See, she can't be blamed.

I’m such a guy.

I need to simply get the fuck over it.

 

And so we do.

And in so doing

We do what we know.

And because of us countless others

Will also whisper or scream, "Me too."

 

~~Stephen Grant

Please help me get the 2 x 4 out of my eye

The new storyline that the Pulse killer was himself a closeted gay man changes this storyline drastically. It is wrong to call this a homophobic attack. Having said that, in some ways, it is much more devastatingly indicting of our current culture (I originally stated "American," but that is inaccurate. It is worldwide) or corporate psyche that pushes difference to the margins. Everyone pushes people away who are different (especially people that scare them or trigger their shame) to the margins of their psyches and physical lives. As we think about people who intimidate, frighten or repulse us, in our minds we have to make them small, ugly, repulsive,emasculated, and dehumanized. We make them "wholly other" to escape our shame and feel more powerful ourselves. For what we think we see in the one we hate is merely an image of our shattered selves that reveals the bits we or others broke off and would prefer stay hidden.

As a man, recognizing my tendencies to do this, and remembering doing it with homosexuals because of my insecurities, I relate to the above paragraph. All people do this, and not merely with sexual things (though sex is a powerful drive and it happens a lot in this arena). We do this with gender issues as well. Genesis 3 suggests that much of our misogyny is a result of this fear and is a resultant curse that drives men to "rule over" women.

Consequences and curses are nearly always connected to real life choices. Adam's chose to do nothing when the serpent tempted Eve. He was with her when she ate. The serpent didn't deceive him, and he still didn't say anything to try to stop her from eating. The only explanation I can find for his choices is that he was scared and so he froze -- a typical amygdalaian response. As men, we are famous for freezing. Our silence belies our fear. We are paralyzed by it and for a time, do not move or speak. When we ultimately do, if our amygdala is still in charge, we will most often act or speak violently. The level of our violence is directly related to the depth of the cortisol engulfing our amygdalas. At this point, we are hopelessly caught in a cycle that often becomes vicious and dangerous. I need to note here that though I am primarily speaking of men, women's brains are wired similarly, and though they may express violence differently, those acts are still sinister, kill, and destroy.

The reason the above conversation is vital to our understanding of this particular issue is that people live freely when fear is no longer a threat. What I realized this week is that as a 6'4" white male, who looks like he walked off the set of Sons of Anarchy, I don't know social fear like my gay friends. When I was much younger, I walked my dog Ashleigh -- a giant, gorgeous Gordan Setter -- down the north end of MLK in Portland late at night, greeting the prostitutes and drug dealers that used to hang out in my neighborhood. I was friendly to them, and they to me. Ashleigh made up her mind on a case by case basis. My lack of fear surprised those I encountered; many assumed I was a cop because I engaged them as humans who had worth without any fear. My wife never knew that freedom. I recently saw a meme about men fearing prison for the same reason women fear walking down the streets. My stature, my gender, and my race change the way that the world engages me. I have no fears about being physically attacked. My amygdala shoots into hyper-drive for entirely different reasons: creepy spiders and scary snakes, heights, or losing respect are what drive my amygdala crazy.

As a father of an attractive daughter, I'm aware that urban women live in a constant state of hyper-arousal and fear when they are alone on the streets. Fear accompanies them like a bad case of tinnitus. It is always in the background and never goes away. That is bad enough, but gays and transgendered people live not merely with a threat of physical harm, though this fear is all too real. They are forced to live with psychic fears surrounding their relationships as well, because who they are as people is not close enough to the center of other peoples' comfort zones. So they marginalize them. Not because they do or say anything; but merely because they've found freedom to embrace a part of themselves that scares others without that freedom to death. Ironically, their sexual freedom becomes their jailer.

My stature, gender, race change the way that the world engages with me. Police and authorities relate to me differently than they do people of smaller stature or people of color. My fears are not about being physically attacked. My amygdala shoots into hyper-drive for entirely different reasons. As a father of an attractive daughter, I've known that women live in a constant state of hyper-arousal and fear when they have to go out. Fear accompanies them like a bad case of tinnitus. That is bad enough, but gays and transgendered people live not merely with a threat of physical harm when they are out, though this fear is all too real. They are forced to live with psychic fear surrounding their relationships as well, because who they are as people is not close enough to the center of other peoples' comfort zones. They are marginalized, not because they do or say anything; but merely because they've found freedom to embrace a part of themselves that scares other (without that freedom) to death. Their sexual freedom, becomes their jailer, as others who do not know such freedom (because of their own shame)¹ push them out of the center to the edges -- away from what they consider normal.

Can you feel the bind? If one acknowledges this integral part of themselves, discovering the freedom that it brings, they place themselves in a societal jail of contempt; experiencing constant physical, emotional, and mental threats. On the other hand, if they don't acknowledge this core piece or drive, they are free societally --accepted and loved because they are part of the majority -- but they are bound internally, wasting away inside because they can't acknowledge a part of themselves that is very real and powerful.

Some people caught in this bind, are incapable of acknowledging it to themselves either because they believe their desire and their longings are morally wrong. If this is you, it is easy to understand why you get angry so quickly. Justin Torres poetically points out that, because of all these realities, the only place that the gay community experiences any true freedom is at the gay club. The club is the gay community's temple. It is the only place they know that they can go to be free together and play and release all the pent up tension that the hyper-vigilance of always protecting oneself creates. It is the only place for the gay community to release trauma together. He writes:

People talk about liberation as if it’s some kind of permanent state, as if you get liberated and that’s it, you get some rights and that’s it, you get some acknowledgment and that’s it, happy now? But you’re going back down into the muck of it every day; this world constricts. You know what the opposite of Latin Night at the Queer Club is? Another Day in Straight White America. So when you walk into the club, if you’re lucky, it feels expansive. “Safe space” is a cliche, overused and exhausted in our discourse, but the fact remains that a sense of safety transforms the body, transforms the spirit. So many of us walk through the world without it. So when you walk through the door and it’s a salsa beat, and brown bodies, queer bodies, all writhing in some fake smoke and strobing lights, no matter how cool, how detached, how over-it you think you are, Latin Night at the Queer Club breaks your cool. You can’t help but smile, this is for you, for us.

While that is an excruciatingly sad reality, It is the reality we've created (and by "we," I mean "us conservative type, white, apparently fearless males"). In so doing we have sinned greatly and owe a debt we can't repay. We can only ask how we can make it right; cause, the reality is we F**ked it up.

Jesus was clear that before we try to take the speck out of the other's eye, we need to take the 2x4 out of our eye. Because we like being at the center and holding the power, we keep refusing to do that. So before we about their "sin," we need to address our own first. We have put the gay community in an impossible situation, and we need to repent.

Dedicated to Jeffrey Tangeman, a college roommate that knew he could never be honest with me because of who I was rather than who he was. RIP, brother.

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^{1 I am not suggesting that everyone is a homosexual. I am suggesting that a high percentage of people have unresolved sexual issues. Relatively few explore and address issues surrounding their sexuality and that the shame that inhabits it.} 

 

Confessions of an Unapologetic Rebel, standing fast

I am learning to embrace my role in life: To be a rebel for the Kingdom of God; leaving a drop of grace in every step I take...

As Paula and I were driving through wine country today Switchfoot came on the iPod. In particular, this song 

As I turned it up, I realized how my family's war cry, "Stand Fast!" fit with this wondrous song. Just needed to share that

Sex addiction recovery at its worst

When twelve step groups aren’t safe, what is? I’m angry and sad, and I don’t know what to do with my emotions. Since it is unsafe for me to carry them alone, I decided to write about it. Maybe it might do some good out here.

I just talked to a good friend who has historically struggled with sexual addiction. I called him because I heard he was back in the quicksand. As we talked, I heard part of the story I wish weren’t true. (Well, actually I wish none of the story was true, but it all is.)

In late summer, in the midst of some profound struggles and poor choices, he went to his sponsor to get some help. His sponsor felt incapable of “holding” his travails without putting his own sexual sobriety into jeopardy. So he “fired” my friend. My friend still hasn’t recovered. The actions of his sponsor sunk him even deeper into the cesspool of his challenged and warped perceptions.

In sexual addiction twelve step groups, members talk about their own sobriety being a priority. Newbies are encouraged by “old timers” to get rid of anything that gets in the way of staying sober (In SA that means "no sex with self or anyone other than a spouse"). New sponsors are encouraged to sponsor only insofar that their sponsoring another helps them stay sober-- not their sponsee. It is acknowledged that recovery is a selfish program.  This makes sense, if one’s life depends on sobriety (and for sex addicts it does) everyone needs to be cautious in holding or engaging things that may trigger their own personal demons to have authority in their lives once more.

The reality of what I just wrote leaves me wondering about my friend and recovery. Sexual recovery groups have power because members love one another not in spite of but because of their weaknesses – “It feels so good to know I am not the only one that struggles that way. I have someone to walk with who understands.” When groups can’t live out love, they fail in their purpose, laid out for them in the traditions: “Each group has but one primary purpose to carry its message to the sex addict that still suffers.”

Indeed, this should be the wonder of recovery(and I know I am “shoulding” on twelve step groups here): While a lone addict alone can’t make it. Together, they can. While one addict alone can’t contain and hold another addict's struggle, the community can. Together they are capable of far more than they think is possible. The majestic wonder here is that accepted weakness makes both the group and the individual stronger than they could possibly imagine so long as they walk together.

I just wish they had realized this in time to practice the twelfth step with my friend. He is in a world of hurt, and though he alone is responsible for his own choices and actions, the group must bear much of the responsibility for his current brokenness. I don't know if he will make it back from this one. It may be too late. I have to leave him in my heavenly Father's care (and that is easier said than done.)

I am angry that the system failed him. Though I want to blame his sponsor, I can’t. If I blame anyone, I blame his sponsor’s sponsor. He is the one who encouraged his sponsor to dump him (However, I want to fight this finger pointing tendency as I don’t think it is helpful at all). Whatever conclusions one reaches, it is a sad day for the recovery world, and an even sadder one for my friend, his wife and children. 

“Covenant,” in the words of Indigo Montoya, “I do not think that word means what you think that word means.”

 

It is such a badly misused and misunderstood word. I’ve watched it be used to ostracize and abuse people. This is not what God intended

Dan Allender threw out an idea in his Marriage and Family Class offered at the Seattle School of Theology and Psychology. He talked about covenantal marriage, and headship hitting upon something most people miss. He challenged us to take fifteen minutes to look up Sumerian covenants. So I did.

Covenants were created by conquering kings as tools to help them rule. The conquering kings would severe animals in half and make the conquered king walk between them. Then the conquering king would say to the conquered king something along the lines of, “If your people cause me trouble you will be the first to be severed as these animals have been severed.” It was a sign of the conquered kings allegiance, and of his promise to the conquering king to be loyal.

God turned that idea on its head for he says to his creation, if you mess up, I will be the first to die. And then he followed through on his promise. He died for us. The old covenant is completely rebuilt around a new idea of the powerful (filled with the Spirit of the Living God, and given previously unknown freedom) giving up their freedom and, indeed, their lives for the powerless and the oppressed, even as Jesus did.

What it means for us as the church is that we too are called to be the first to die for the one that violates the covenant and sins. Doesn’t the apostle say, “Love covers a multitude of sins?” And aren’t we commanded by Paul to “carry one another’s burdens” without respect for whether they have let us down or not? We’ve missed it. We live under the old Sumerian system. If the parishioner (or member) screws up, we say, “They violated the covenant. Kick them out.” And when we do, we break the heart of the one who died for us, because we missed the point of his being the first to die.

According to Allender, and I think I agree, "headship means being willing to be the first to die." So,what would it look like for the church to walk as Jesus did, being willing to be the first to die? To come down to eat at the pig trough, to live with people and meet people in the place of brokenness and despair? What would it look like for us, the Church to carry the cost of the broken covenant for the covenant breaker, so they don’t have to? I’d like to find out.

You Remember that time?

So you know that moment when you are totally drenched from rain that is hitting you like a thousand needles being driven into your face as you keep telling yourself, “If I ride a little faster, I can dodge the raindrops that aren’t supposed to be falling at all? Yeah that moment earlier tonight on my way home from Seattle to Portland…

God and I had a conversation as the rain came down and my body temperature dropped. I was not equipped for rain today. And I was asking him a couple of things:

1. That I would find a way to be grateful for my soaking. I ended up deciding that I was grateful for it because it was teaching me how to be grateful for the damndest things.
2. For the person I was trying to blame for my getting caught to find peace and love today. They were not the reason I was caught in the down pour. My own thoughtlessness was the reason I was caught in the down pour and I didn’t want to hold myself accountable. It felt easier to blame someone else. I had to give that up and so I prayed for them to have what I wanted. I prayed for them until I meant the words I prayed. This one wasn’t so difficult
3. And I apologized for trying to manipulate him by my choices to pray and, “surrender.” I realized I started my prayers not so much because I was trying to connect with God as much as I thought that maybe if I paid attention to Him, He’d turn off the faucet. I am grateful that I am aware of my attempts to manipulate God. I don’t think it really fazes him one way or the other. It is more a testimony of how I am, and want to be no longer… “I am now ready that you should have all of me, good and bad…”

And in the midst of these prayers I became incredibly grateful for the man who taught  me to pray in such a way; who called me to be the kind of man that could finish a year at The Seattle School; who taught me how to live in spite of my best efforts toward destruction. He and I don’t walk the same path any longer and I am sad about that, and I am eternally grateful that God would place this non-Trinitarian /non-Christian in my life to teach me about Jesus and what it means to follow Him. I still remember telling him, “David, I find it remarkable that God has chosen to use you to teach me more about Jesus than I ever learned in Sunday School or seminary; but then again, if He can use an ass to speak to the Israelites, I’m sure he can use you to speak to me.” I’m here in large part because David listened to God and then gave me what he had been given by another who went before him.

For too much of my life I limited God. He could only speak through approved channels: The Bible and/or a Bible believing (and by that someone that believes the Bible the way I do) pastor or friend. God was small and I was scared. I’m still learning that He is bigger than I can possibly imagine. (Kant was at least right about that.) He can speak through whatever means He chooses. He can even speak through a Unitarian/Universalist or King JAmes only fundamentalist. The trouble is not that He isn’t speaking, but that I don't listen because I don’t believe he speaks that way or through that medium. And so I miss out.

The rain didn’t stop, and God gave me one of the most glorious sunsets I have ever seen, complete with a rainbow on the other side of the freeway. I laughed so hard at His glory that I had to bring my speeding bike back under control. I have a strong feeling that He was laughing with me.