Lest Blood Be Shed

'Tis the gift to be simple,
   'Tis the gift to be free,
'Tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
   And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gained,
   To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed.
To turn, turn will be our delight
   'Till by turning, turning we come round right.

I've been pondering more intently than usualy how much community means if we are to be a healthy society. Our civilization has forgotten how to "do community." What have we lost? How can we regain it? I received this in my email Inbox this morning:

How strange that we should ordinarily feel compelled to hide our wounds when we are all wounded! Community requires the ability to expose our wounds and weaknesses to our fellow creatures. It also requires the ability to be affected by the wounds of others... But even more important is the love that arises among us when we share, both ways, our woundedness. -- M. Scott Peck

It's 9:10 pm and I should be arriving home in about 25 minutes. Here I sit. My iPod's batteries have died. It's dark. We haven't even reach Dyer Indiana (the first stop). The Amtrak train has been delayed because a freight train in front of us missed it's turn or something was wrong with the switching mechanism on the tracks. The conductor tells us the delay, "could be considerable." Despite this and the fact that Amtrak was 35 minutes late this morning to pick me up, I have completely enjoyed my return tour to the beauty of public transportation. Ever since I first went to NYC and experienced the joy of the subway, I've been hooked on public transportation. Unfortunately, I haven't had the chance to make full use of the rail system from Rensselaer. This year my classes work out perfectly so as to allow me to take the train into Chicago. When I first pulled out of the Rensselaer station this morning I actually started to cry the scenery was so beautiful. It just felt "right" to be taking the train. That emotion didn't compare to the flood of emotions I got when I got onto the CTA lines.

I always have within me the burning desire to return to NYC and each time I go I make the trip longer. Last time I stayed there for an entire two weeks and I'm thinking the next time will be a month (if I can get the time off). I love that city! At any rate, when I stepped onto the #151 bus, the Green Line train, and the #55 bus I was filled with a sense of joy as the rememberations (I made that word up) of NYC came at me like a freight train. Though, not like the one stuck in front of me. It felt so good to be riding the CTA that I declared (to myself though I would have said it out loud in NYC) that my burning desire to return to NYC has been slightly appeased and if I kept this up over the next semester I would be able to last one more year before I visit New York again.

Public transportation is so sustainable and I'm not quite sure why it has never caught on in the States as a truly viable means of travel. Well, I do know why in part but let's not dwell on America's obsession with oil, cars, and individualism... I'm having a public transportation moment here. I just love the fact that people talk to you at the bus stops. I had a huge conversation with a woman at 57th and Stoney Island just waiting for the #X28 bus. She wanted to take Metra but the delays announced just kept getting bigger and bigger so she decided to take the #6 bus. She's a University of Chicago student and she--like other people I know--is dreading the busyness that is going to descend upon her life.

So engrossed in this entry and remembering the time I went to Chicago on the Amtrak, I didn't realize the train has started to move. What a joy! At any rate, I think I'll play some Nick Drake on my laptop (though my earbuds) and watch people fidget. Three Hours or maybe Man in a Shed will be quite lovely.

p.s. I also found out that the train that goes through Rensselaer also stops in NYC
p.p.s it's 11:09 now that I post this.

Talking with a new friend (he doesn't have a link... sorry) Monday night, I found confirmation for how much fear and prejudice grips "White America." Hyde Park, IL is on the South Side of Chicago (yes, Rick, that's North of U.S. 30). The South Side has a rich heritage and culture containing many different darker skinned ethnicities. Hyde Park is unique in that heritage in as much because it has many Undergraduate, Graduate, and Post Graduate programs that draw a variety of cultures and colors to the South Side. A majority of these colors and cultures, which one would expect statistically, are white European and furthermore, the faculty for these programs represent this type of demographic but with the added advantage of having money. Because of this, Hyde Park is an island of ivory in a sea of ebony. This island is gripped with fear of all the color and pain that surrounds it and there are many community programs that are focused on keeping the poor color off the island. "The community" (not everyone obviously, but the pervasive mentalities this represents) assumes that all of the crime comes in from outside the ivory walls of academia. To that end, many in "the community" will not themselves venture outside of the boarders of Hyde Park with reasoning that it is "too dangerous." Now, I drive through the middle of these forbidden neighborhoods on my way into and out of the city and I find them enjoyable in the diversity and yet saddening in the poverty but never frightening. These forbidden neighborhoods are filled with real people that are feared and they are feared merely because of their color and class! This fear has been developed and imposed upon these communities and in most cases are self-fulfilling prophecies playing themselves out because of the societal structures that enforce oppression on the ebony communities. If you don't believe me, I'll leave you with a quote gifted to me by Michael he received from on such rich white woman living in Hyde Park, "Well, that's their problem."

If this entry were a post song I would be singing it off key...I'm sleepy. Michael your variety of tea and tea bags are too good and keep me up too late!

The PDF version of the paper

The topic of the ordination of openly queer individuals within the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A) has had a long history of debate. The debate itself has caused a great rift within the church and moved the focus from the ministry of the church to the principles of the church. These principles, unexamined standpoints, have slowly been absorbed into the psyche of the communities with the denomination and when questioned are met with a deadly combination of loving venom. Because of the trenches that have been dug within this debate, it seems as if we have lost touch with the underlying purposes of the fight.

"The mission of the Church is given form by God's activity in the world as told in the Bible and understood by faith" (G-3.0100). This section of the Book of Order continues to describe God's intricate care for all of creation in general and God's salvation history through Christ in particular (G-3.0101-3.0200). The interpretation of this activity in the world is presented as the mission of the Church in G-3.0300-3.0401. The striking thing about this interpreted mission is its focus on humanity. This is what has been lost sight of in the debate--people. The real problem that this debate is facing is the fulfillment of the mission of the Church as described in the Book of Order. There are many faithful individuals in the church being sent into exile because of the stance of the principled within the church. There are the people leaving the church because they feel it is becoming too mired in sin and those who are being out right excluded because of an aspect of their lives they do not consider sinful but others in the church do. Both sides have been left behind as the battle rages in the denomination. To that end, I think the greatest need for ministry is for those who have been marginalized in the church and whose salvation has been questioned. The queer folk in our denomination have been long silenced and marginalized in the denomination because of an unquestioned principle inherited from our modern age.

After accidentally driving to Monticello and back last night, I was determined to accomplish something productive today. The fact that I have a paper due for my Presbyterian Polity class I took June 27 - July 1 this summer had been weighing heavily on my mind for the past week. I thought I had until September 9th to complete the 10 page assignment.

The paper should reflect your understanding of a topic of pility and leadership in the Presbyterian Church U.S.A. I will be looking for evidence of your understanding of the Book of Order, the Directory for Worship, and/or the Rules of Discipline and how they apply to a particular context in ministry...

So, after staying up until 2am last night I woke up bright and early at 7:30am ready to go. Well, when I dug the papers out of their hiding place I discovered that the paper was not due this Friday but tomorrow by 4pm. I scrambled through the house to gather the research I had done in July for my topic--Ordination of Openly Queer Persons of God in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A): The Dam is Leaking!

Having cleaned myself and eaten for departure, I leave on the bike for my office and after checking my email I promptly take a nap. "Rests the brain." An hour later, I get up and waste some more time reading email, checking blogs, and reading slashdot. I've been avoiding refined sugar for the past month now and for some reason my body was craving it after my nap. I couldn't get the thought out of my mind. I almost went to the store and bought some Oreo Cookies but opted to get a can of Mountain Dew. Now, I haven't had a Mt. Dew in at least a year and this one was magical. I thought it would be healthier if I went for a walk as I drank the dew and found myself sitting in the SJC Lourdes Grotto. I finished the can in about two minutes and just sat still. Sitting in the sun next to little pond with a water fall (not the one with the statues of Mary praying to Mary), I don't move a muscle. I'm frozen in the buzz of The Dew gazing at a colony of honey bees drink water from the pond. The bees were awesome with 30-40 of them stopping at a time. I felt a certain kind of reassurance and power as I realized I wasn't afraid of being 6-12 inches away from a swarm of bees. I've always dreamed of having the privilege of taking care of a hive of honey bees. I think it all started when I was six years old and a friend and I were "collecting bees" and I had one bee that I was going to collect simply land on my foot and I watched it slowly sting me and then fly away. That bee killed itself to save the lives of its brothers and sisters. How noble!

Awaking from my dream like state by the pond, I noticed there were chipmunks, squirrels, and a person watching me in my statuesque state. One squirrel was actually trying to get a drink from the pond but the bees were chasing it away and sending the squirrel a few feet in the air every so often. I tried to regain my meditative state with the bees again, but an hour had passed on the first stint and as such the moment had passed. I left the Grotto and collected the bike for a round-trip home to get some coffee.

Upon arriving home, I was distracted by the flock of birds in my back yard. I watched them for about 10 minutes and became very sleepy. I took another nap. I chuckled when I woke from my nap at 4:20 with a burst of creative energy. I have a basket on the bike so I can carry food from the grocery or "office items" to and from work. The two flaws with the basket are that it is not very securely attached to the bike and I'm afraid it will just bounce off. Also, because Rensselaer is not bike friendly when I do carry things in the basket they tend to bounce themselves and I have to keep a hand on top to secure the contents. I gathered what I needed: a pair of scissors, kite string, small zip ties, a bread knife, and a piece of sturdy cardboard. I first fashioned the cardboard as a lid for the basket using the bread knife to cut it to size and the zip ties to secure it to the top. This solved the problem of the flying contents. Though I realized at that moment I need a latch for the front of the basket to keep the lid closed. That would have to come later. The next part was easy. I just used the kite string and scissors to secure the hooking apparatus of the basket to the bike more permanently. When all was said and done I declared with a bit of glee in my voice the new name for the bike (not that it had a name before): Ghetto Bike Version 3.972--Optimized!

I was sad to find only a few beans left for coffee but no matter I needed to go to the store to get sealant for the cardboard and a latch to keep it closed. I could get the coffee, the half and half, and some cheeze-its on the way! While I was running my errands I was distracted by a wireless outdoor/indoor thermometer and by a growing sense of hunger. I satisfied both distractions by purchasing the thermometer and stopping by Taco Bell to pick up some soft shell tacos. Up to this point in the day I had spent all of my time communing with nature and my inner thoughts. This was the first real interaction of the day and it was somewhat surreal to say the least. I walked up to the cash register and everything seemed to move in slow motion. Even my voice sounded lower as if I had entered some sort of time distortion. I just stared at the two employees behind the counter with a blank expression on my face. It was as if each of us had forgotten how to interact with other humans. Like we were lost in our own isolation lacking any sense of community. I placed my order and was handed 32oz cup. As I walking to the fountain drink station the banter behind the counter takes a very odd turn. One of the guys behind the counter starts smacking a meat scoop against his latex glove and says, "you know what that sound is?" To which the other employee responds by rapidly doing a one hand clap in his latex gloves. It was a very good impression of someone masturbating and as such they both laughed. I, on the other hand, go and fill my 32oz cup with some ice and immediately went for the Mountain Dew fountain.

I now sit here wasting more time blogging. I actually started this entry a hour and a half ago. All I can think is, "Remember that time I woke up at 7:30 am to write a 10 page paper but got high on Mountain Dew and spent the entire day talking to bees, squirrels, and birds; created an optimized ghetto bike; and didn't start the paper until late evening?"

The theme songs for today are going to be: The Pusher by Steppenwolf, and I was Made to Love Magic by Nick Drake

2005-09-05 19:40

I woke up this morning contemplating the possibility that is arising of being sent by SJC and the FCC down to New Orleans to rebuild the phone system via wireless and VoIP technologies. Will people die without phones? How can I use this assignment (should I choose to accept it ) to destroy our patriarchal social structures for Jesus? Amidst all that a silly thought came into my mind (if my other thoughts are not silly already)--is the U.S. Postal Service delivering in New Orleans? It would be friggin' sweet if they were as we techno slaves scramble to rebuild our fragile Internet.