Last week I got sick. The diarrhea hit at about 4:00 a.m. Wednesday morning, and lasted through Friday night, when I was starting to get genuinely worried, since the instructions on the Imodium box say to call a doctor if symptoms last more than two days. But then things changed, like the shifting of a bad wind. The nausea departed, my energy returned, and my bowels recommenced their normal functioning. When you've been ill, nothing feels better than just good old normality. Fortunately, I knew to drink lots of water, even if I couldn't bring myself to eat much, and eventually my body recovered all by itself.
But I was still experiencing some of the symptoms of the sickness (though was on the mend) when we left on a camping trip for Blue Mounds State Park Friday morning. So I was going somewhat on faith. I felt the signs of healing in my bones, though wasn't all the way there. But I'm glad I didn't let that stop us from going on the trip we'd been planning for some months.
The prairies down there are amazing. Rolling green hills, covered with outcroppings of dark red/purple "Sioux quartzite." The unique stone ranges in color from flesh-like tan and brown colors to deep blood red and purple, and it is everywhere in that part of the country, exposed by the recession of the last glaciers. The Minnesota farmers never tried to flatten out the soil there. They just planted over the hills, sometimes even terracing. The winds never seemed to stop blowing, and the sky was always changing. The clouds were like mountains over the red cliffs.
We went to a place called "Hole-in-the-Mountain," which sort of looked exactly like its name. As if there had been a mountain there, and the gods had just come and swooped it up, leaving nothing but crumbs around the edges, little foothills to remind us of what had been there. We sat on top of those hills where we could see almost everything, while the wind rushed wildly around us. You could lean into the wind and it would hold you up. We could barely talk to each other. All we could hear was the wind.
We went to Pipestone National Monument, which was both strange and wonderful. Wonderful because the monument consists of a series of paths that wind around the rocky hills and cliffs and over streams, unveiling one beautiful vista after another. But strange because this land is considered sacred to the native Lakota, as is the stone after which the park is named -- the pipestone. When God gave it to them, he told them, "This is your flesh." At the monument, native Lakota craftsmen who have quarried and worked the sacred stone for generations were there, doing their work for tourists to watch. I thought, this is wrong. The government should give the land back to the Lakota people. If they want to let tourists come watch, then fine. But as it was, it felt strange. An intrusion into that which should not be intruded upon.
Our last day, we wandered around the cliffs at Blue Mounds, enjoying the sunshine and the warmth, and later in the day, enjoying the relief to our aching legs and feet when we could finally relax after a weekend of hiking.
Nights, Glen would start and tend the campfires while Göran and our friend Jonathan and I would take turns cooking and cleaning. Our breakfasts consisted of granola and eggs, our lunches of cashew butter and jelly sandwiches, our dinners of rough-cut veggies roasted in tin foil packets over an open fire with olive oil, herbs, and Italian-sausage-flavored pressed tofu. Much more delicious than it sounds. Memories of Glen's laughter and the sense of peace we all shared while watching a beautiful sunset will warm me for years to come.
As always, it was a time for me to slow down. To heal. To be aware of the connection between my body and the earth. To listen. To dream, and to record my dreams. To let the Spirit teach me. To be mindful of God's love, and of all our sacred destinies.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Conversations about Race, Part II
Lyndale United Church of Christ, the congregation that Göran, Glen and I attend together, is joining other United Churches of Christ congregations in on-going "conversations about race."
When Pastor Don Portwood introduced the subject on Sunday, May 11, he handed out a couple of essays. One of these was an excerpted version of Peggy McIntosh's "White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack". The other essay was Robert Jensen's reflection on Peggy McIntosh's essay, entitled "White Privilege Shapes the U.S."
If the notion of "white privilege" is an alien concept to you (and it very likely is if you are white) I recommend you read these essays. If you can only read one, I recommend you read McIntosh's first. But both essays are relatively short, sweet and to the point, and they spell out in terms anyone can understand how and why racism still shapes all of our experience, to the detriment of all of us.
I was introduced to the concept of white privilege as a first year graduate student at the University of Minnesota. (We certainly didn't read McIntosh's essay or discuss white privilege at BYU in the 1980s. Perhaps some of you can attest whether the Lord's University has evolved since then.) So I've been intellectually aware of it (though -- nature of the beast -- paying attention to it only sporadically) for something like 20 years. But now that I re-read these essays, I'm left with the same questions I was left with 20 years ago, "So now what?" and "Where do we go from here?"
Here's the problem. As both McIntosh and Jensen point it out, you can be aware of white privilege and even deplore it. You can do all the "consciousness raising" you want. But it still doesn't make it go away. White privilege seems immune to awareness, which it constantly conspires to reduce to oblivion in any event. As a white man in a relationship with a man of African descent, I am aware of the fact that my white privilege didn't evaporate because of my relationship; nor does he gain white privilege through me. It doesn't work that way. When the two of us walk into a store or a restaurant, I am still treated differently than he is.
Yet, despite the seeming imperviousness of white privilege to individual awareness and effort, in my life I've proceeded with the assumption that in fact awareness can make a difference. My personal awareness may not put a dent in the overall system of white privilege, but it can make a difference in the relationships I am a party to and in the systems in which I have real power and influence. When I am in a room full of white faces, and I see a complexion of a different color, awareness of how white privilege operates in such a setting can help me to behave in such a way as to increase the degree to which all in that room are included and empowered. Awareness can educate my political behavior (how I vote) and economic behavior (what I consume and where I buy it). I think at root, if we didn't believe this, why would we bother to share and discuss articles like McIntosh's?
The challenge for white folks is not to rush on to the conclusion that just because you've been "educated," you're set and the problem is solved. It helps to acknowledge that even with the best conscious efforts, we will continue to act in a white supremacist manner in many unconscious ways. So reminding ourselves and continuing to study the issue -- continually striving to elevate unconscious reflex to the realm of conscious action -- is crucial. It also helps to acknowledge that we can only solve a very minuscule part of the problem as individuals. So the work will involve evaluating collective behavior and seeking to link up politically and socially on a local, regional and national scale. In other words, it may require political organization.
But my final observation is mainly theological. Our awareness of interlocking systems of oppression -- racism, sexism, homophobia, the class system, systems that privilege able-bodiedness, etc. -- has grown out of efforts by individuals to speak their personal truths. Women speaking out about sexism. Racial minorities speaking out about racism. Gays and lesbians speaking out about homophobia. Disabled people speaking out about inaccessibility. Aren't we all hungering for "accessibility" in some meaning of that word? But these are personal and individual expressions, the truth of the world seen "from the ground up."
The reality that shapes all of our individual experience to devastating effect "from the sky down" is the concentration of world imperial power in the hands of a few, who manipulate regional and global economies and who wield devastating military power. Those "powers that be" have created global heavens for the few "haves" and global hells for the "have-nots," and purgatories that keep the rest of us living in fear, thinking that our selfish clinging can prevent us being cast into "hell." Does this not resemble the demonic reign of the "powers and principalities" the Apostle Paul wrote of? Spiritual evil in high places? Can we cure any social ill until the rule of demonic powers is overthrown? So part of me feels that, while we need to be engaged with hand and heart and all we've got, nothing can be solved without opening our hearts to the Millennium, cultivating faith in and submission to the God whose method of resisting evil is to teach us how to resist it, but who has also promised to come again to save us.
For those of us caught in the gears of the machine -- whether because of our race or our sex or our sexuality or because of the configuration of our bodies -- isn't the moment of salvation when the Spirit teaches us that we have a Divine birthright that transcends the worldly systems that define us? A birthright shared by those who are fooled by the system into contributing to our oppression. Even if we cannot free ourselves of the effects of an unrighteous system, that knowledge frees us in powerful ways nevertheless. It can fill us with an empowering peace and resolve. But we can't fully enjoy that freedom if we exercise any degree of unrighteous dominion over others.
That is why I am also aware of the power of theologies that remind us how evil cannot be overcome without repentance and humility and submission to God. In the face of racism, we white folks are like camels, trying to figure out how we can fit through the needle's eye. We need help if we are going to pass.
When Pastor Don Portwood introduced the subject on Sunday, May 11, he handed out a couple of essays. One of these was an excerpted version of Peggy McIntosh's "White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack". The other essay was Robert Jensen's reflection on Peggy McIntosh's essay, entitled "White Privilege Shapes the U.S."
If the notion of "white privilege" is an alien concept to you (and it very likely is if you are white) I recommend you read these essays. If you can only read one, I recommend you read McIntosh's first. But both essays are relatively short, sweet and to the point, and they spell out in terms anyone can understand how and why racism still shapes all of our experience, to the detriment of all of us.
I was introduced to the concept of white privilege as a first year graduate student at the University of Minnesota. (We certainly didn't read McIntosh's essay or discuss white privilege at BYU in the 1980s. Perhaps some of you can attest whether the Lord's University has evolved since then.) So I've been intellectually aware of it (though -- nature of the beast -- paying attention to it only sporadically) for something like 20 years. But now that I re-read these essays, I'm left with the same questions I was left with 20 years ago, "So now what?" and "Where do we go from here?"
Here's the problem. As both McIntosh and Jensen point it out, you can be aware of white privilege and even deplore it. You can do all the "consciousness raising" you want. But it still doesn't make it go away. White privilege seems immune to awareness, which it constantly conspires to reduce to oblivion in any event. As a white man in a relationship with a man of African descent, I am aware of the fact that my white privilege didn't evaporate because of my relationship; nor does he gain white privilege through me. It doesn't work that way. When the two of us walk into a store or a restaurant, I am still treated differently than he is.
Yet, despite the seeming imperviousness of white privilege to individual awareness and effort, in my life I've proceeded with the assumption that in fact awareness can make a difference. My personal awareness may not put a dent in the overall system of white privilege, but it can make a difference in the relationships I am a party to and in the systems in which I have real power and influence. When I am in a room full of white faces, and I see a complexion of a different color, awareness of how white privilege operates in such a setting can help me to behave in such a way as to increase the degree to which all in that room are included and empowered. Awareness can educate my political behavior (how I vote) and economic behavior (what I consume and where I buy it). I think at root, if we didn't believe this, why would we bother to share and discuss articles like McIntosh's?
The challenge for white folks is not to rush on to the conclusion that just because you've been "educated," you're set and the problem is solved. It helps to acknowledge that even with the best conscious efforts, we will continue to act in a white supremacist manner in many unconscious ways. So reminding ourselves and continuing to study the issue -- continually striving to elevate unconscious reflex to the realm of conscious action -- is crucial. It also helps to acknowledge that we can only solve a very minuscule part of the problem as individuals. So the work will involve evaluating collective behavior and seeking to link up politically and socially on a local, regional and national scale. In other words, it may require political organization.
But my final observation is mainly theological. Our awareness of interlocking systems of oppression -- racism, sexism, homophobia, the class system, systems that privilege able-bodiedness, etc. -- has grown out of efforts by individuals to speak their personal truths. Women speaking out about sexism. Racial minorities speaking out about racism. Gays and lesbians speaking out about homophobia. Disabled people speaking out about inaccessibility. Aren't we all hungering for "accessibility" in some meaning of that word? But these are personal and individual expressions, the truth of the world seen "from the ground up."
The reality that shapes all of our individual experience to devastating effect "from the sky down" is the concentration of world imperial power in the hands of a few, who manipulate regional and global economies and who wield devastating military power. Those "powers that be" have created global heavens for the few "haves" and global hells for the "have-nots," and purgatories that keep the rest of us living in fear, thinking that our selfish clinging can prevent us being cast into "hell." Does this not resemble the demonic reign of the "powers and principalities" the Apostle Paul wrote of? Spiritual evil in high places? Can we cure any social ill until the rule of demonic powers is overthrown? So part of me feels that, while we need to be engaged with hand and heart and all we've got, nothing can be solved without opening our hearts to the Millennium, cultivating faith in and submission to the God whose method of resisting evil is to teach us how to resist it, but who has also promised to come again to save us.
For those of us caught in the gears of the machine -- whether because of our race or our sex or our sexuality or because of the configuration of our bodies -- isn't the moment of salvation when the Spirit teaches us that we have a Divine birthright that transcends the worldly systems that define us? A birthright shared by those who are fooled by the system into contributing to our oppression. Even if we cannot free ourselves of the effects of an unrighteous system, that knowledge frees us in powerful ways nevertheless. It can fill us with an empowering peace and resolve. But we can't fully enjoy that freedom if we exercise any degree of unrighteous dominion over others.
That is why I am also aware of the power of theologies that remind us how evil cannot be overcome without repentance and humility and submission to God. In the face of racism, we white folks are like camels, trying to figure out how we can fit through the needle's eye. We need help if we are going to pass.
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