Utah is this strange place of paradoxes. In Salt Lake, city employees have partner benefits. Not just same-sex partner benefits, non-married heterosexual partner benefits. And if your mom is your dependent, you can name her as your partner. In the same city, state representative (and chair of the Utah House Rules Committee) Chris Buttars says the following: "I believe you (the LGBTQ community) will destroy the foundation of American society because I believe the cornerstone of it is a man and a woman and a family. It is, in my mind, the beginning of the end. Oh it's worse than that. Sure, Sodom and Gomorrah was localized, this is world-wide. You can't tell me that something was going on in Sodom and Gomorrah is not going on wholesale right now and to a large degree among the gay community... The underbelly is they do not want equality, they want superiority. I believe that, internally, they are the greatest threat to America going down that I know of."
Utah was settled largely by the Mormon migration. Now native peoples once healthy and peaceful on this land are now confined to tiny reservations with little access to health care facilities. And the caption in the State Capitol reads, "In Utah, everyone is from someplace else."
Here snow falls and melts - saturates and dries - the sun warms and the night freezes - all in 12 hours.
Here the valley is flat, flat, flat at the foot of Mt. Olympus.
Here in the land of big sky, Salt Lake has some of the worst air pollution in the nation. Sometimes you can't even see the mountains.
And here, here... I have found a community of advocates, a local church committee on church and society, a Muslim school, Turkish women hosting multicultural events encouraging theological and intellectual dialogue.
'Welcome,' Linda said to me as we left the Capitol, 'to Planet Utah.'
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
missing most
your sleepy eyes
and saturday brunch
catastrophes and
finally gaining traction
boats and goats,
bad seafood
that awful sunburn
and statues of our favorite women
no no
it's the never-was
stevie nicks and lindsey buckingham
on halloween of the year we didn't keep
meals we didn't learn to cook together
plans we hadn't made
and the chance we didn't have
your hands and tears i didn't dry
sentences and words unfinish
missing most of us.
and saturday brunch
catastrophes and
finally gaining traction
boats and goats,
bad seafood
that awful sunburn
and statues of our favorite women
no no
it's the never-was
stevie nicks and lindsey buckingham
on halloween of the year we didn't keep
meals we didn't learn to cook together
plans we hadn't made
and the chance we didn't have
your hands and tears i didn't dry
sentences and words unfinish
missing most of us.
Monday, March 2, 2009
just to be clear...
I don't believe it's possible to put ourselves outside of the bounds of God's Grace and Love. Sin or not.
transfigured.
disclaimer: I loved reconciling Sunday. I loved it so much I didn't even realize I was missing one of my favorite Sundays in the liturgical year: Transfiguration Sunday. I think the story is so beautiful, and so mysterious - and so human.
I resonate with the disciples here especially. I think when you hang out with someone like this Jesus character, you come to just expect amazing things to happen. And what with there always being some trick, some moral hiding you didn't see coming, I imagine that I would always have been trying to stay one step ahead, figuring where this lesson was going. I imagine I would have been a fuss-er, like Peter. He so wants to get it right, you know? The voice (can you imagine?) the PRESENCE of God is all about them, and Peter wants to build a worship space, right there. I have trouble imagining what this moment would be like - so I like to have artists help me out. One of my favorite depictions is a musical setting by Sufjan Stevens. Listen to it here.
I'd like to think I'd have enough sense to just take in a moment like that, but I have a feeling I'd be reaching for my camera - always trying to capture, to remember, to keep, to stay the same. And at the heart of it, isn't this story about change? Change for the disciples, change for the ministry, fallout from a mountaintop experience.
One of my favorite spots in the world is at a camp in the mountains of Western North Carolina. The path is steep, icy in the winter and muddy after a rain. And the sun sets fast, so you'd be wise to bring yourself a flashlight. There are cracks in the rock you'll have to leap over to get there, but when you do, it's breathtaking. Castle Rock, hidden gem of the Greenville highway, sees the steady sun set over Carolina farmland day in, day out, year after year, farther back than anyone can remember. The river shines like liquid gold, painted to match the flame-colored hills in fall. I feel like I'm being let in on some cosmic secret - the mountains put on this show just for me. And I watch as the last sliver of orange light flashes, and then disappears behind the next ridge over. Coming down from the mountain, we can see only in part, shining our flashlights in as many places as possible so we don't slip and fall down the steep path. And the rest of the night is spent, largely, recovering from the experience.
Salt Lake City is located smack in the middle of a valley. "Guarded well by mountains," it's magnificent in its own way. But instead of the unfettered vista of Castle Rock, I'm getting used to a very framed view. There are definitions, limits, to my reality. And a place I expected to be cold and frigid turns out to be warm, even inviting. And the frost and snow I'd so long awaited comes too-little-too-late to my Eastern home. And I sing...
Now we can say that nothing's lost and only change brings round the prophecy
Where now it's melting, the solid frost was once a veil on greener landscapes we would see
Beneath my surface the water's heating
And steam comes up and out the tears you see me shine
For every strange and bitter moment there was never a better time
Beneath my surface a song is rising
It may be simple while it hides its true intent
We may be looking for our deliverance but it has already been sent
It's in the night fall when the light falls
And what you've seen isn't there anymore
It's in our blind trust that love will find us
Just like it has before
I resonate with the disciples here especially. I think when you hang out with someone like this Jesus character, you come to just expect amazing things to happen. And what with there always being some trick, some moral hiding you didn't see coming, I imagine that I would always have been trying to stay one step ahead, figuring where this lesson was going. I imagine I would have been a fuss-er, like Peter. He so wants to get it right, you know? The voice (can you imagine?) the PRESENCE of God is all about them, and Peter wants to build a worship space, right there. I have trouble imagining what this moment would be like - so I like to have artists help me out. One of my favorite depictions is a musical setting by Sufjan Stevens. Listen to it here.
I'd like to think I'd have enough sense to just take in a moment like that, but I have a feeling I'd be reaching for my camera - always trying to capture, to remember, to keep, to stay the same. And at the heart of it, isn't this story about change? Change for the disciples, change for the ministry, fallout from a mountaintop experience.
One of my favorite spots in the world is at a camp in the mountains of Western North Carolina. The path is steep, icy in the winter and muddy after a rain. And the sun sets fast, so you'd be wise to bring yourself a flashlight. There are cracks in the rock you'll have to leap over to get there, but when you do, it's breathtaking. Castle Rock, hidden gem of the Greenville highway, sees the steady sun set over Carolina farmland day in, day out, year after year, farther back than anyone can remember. The river shines like liquid gold, painted to match the flame-colored hills in fall. I feel like I'm being let in on some cosmic secret - the mountains put on this show just for me. And I watch as the last sliver of orange light flashes, and then disappears behind the next ridge over. Coming down from the mountain, we can see only in part, shining our flashlights in as many places as possible so we don't slip and fall down the steep path. And the rest of the night is spent, largely, recovering from the experience.
Salt Lake City is located smack in the middle of a valley. "Guarded well by mountains," it's magnificent in its own way. But instead of the unfettered vista of Castle Rock, I'm getting used to a very framed view. There are definitions, limits, to my reality. And a place I expected to be cold and frigid turns out to be warm, even inviting. And the frost and snow I'd so long awaited comes too-little-too-late to my Eastern home. And I sing...
Now we can say that nothing's lost and only change brings round the prophecy
Where now it's melting, the solid frost was once a veil on greener landscapes we would see
Beneath my surface the water's heating
And steam comes up and out the tears you see me shine
For every strange and bitter moment there was never a better time
Beneath my surface a song is rising
It may be simple while it hides its true intent
We may be looking for our deliverance but it has already been sent
It's in the night fall when the light falls
And what you've seen isn't there anymore
It's in our blind trust that love will find us
Just like it has before
Saturday, February 28, 2009
notes on SLC, part 1
...hopefully of many.
1. Salt Lake City is only 30% Mormon, a much lower percentage than the rest of Utah. I only live 3 blocks from Temple Square, but I don't have any sense of being a 'religious minority' at all. We'll see, I suppose, if that changes.
2. SLC is, of course, the state capitol of Utah. This in itself is relatively uninteresting, but the civic engagement here is pretty unique. The League of Women Voters is pretty freaking amazing. They take a good chunk of the local news time on the NPR station every morning to report in depth on what legislation is on the floor each day, and how votes turned out the previous day. They have an award-winning legislative website, and lots of people around seem to have a good sense of what's going on day-to-day on Utah's Capitol Hill. The LDS lobby is, of course, immense (we all saw that during the prop 8 battle), but there's a Coalition of Religious Communities (CORC) that advocates for progressive policies, and does a pretty great job of it. I'm looking forward to working with them on a couple of direct actions next week.
3. The mountains here are bigger than I could have imagined. They still surprise me every time I get a peek at them through the buildings or as I step outside. Nothing about living in Appalachia could have prepared me for the large-ness of the West.
4. Most of the energy in Utah comes from coal-fired power plants. But the concerns with the energy provider in town (Energy Solutions) don't have as much to do with that as they do with the desire to house nuclear waste in the nearby mountains. And we're not talking about nuclear waste from neighboring states, or even the US. I mean nuclear waste from Italy. The coal-fired power plants don't threaten the mountains here with mountaintop removal like they do in Appalachia. I'm no geologist, but I'd guess that's because the mountains here aren't old enough to be chock-full of coal like the ones out East. No, what threatens the mountains here are the threat of storing nuclear waste in them, and the open pit copper mine that has overtaken much of the East slope of the Ochres that faces the city. The land is largely privately-owned... it seems odd to me that someone can own a mountain. Though I suppose it's no more odd than "owning" any other piece of land.
5. There are TONS of independent coffee shops in Salt Lake. I'm pretty stoked about that. One of them is two doors down from where I live, and I'm enjoying the free internet access. There's also a pretty large vegetarian community, eco-friendly community, and general progressive community. I'm hoping to get plugged into some of that.
6. There's a pretty large immigrant community here as well. And immigration isn't particularly latino, as you might expect in the west. There are Tongans, Samoans, and Pakistanis who all have significant numbers here. I have asked several people why this is - and have come up with two main guesses: 1) SLC is probably a pretty good relocation site for refugees and asylees, and 2) A lot of immigration here has to do with returning LDS missionaries. Go figure. There are lots of immigrants at the local UMC near me, so I am hoping to learn some of their stories (I've already been offered a lesson in curry-making!!).
7. All the bars here are private clubs to which you have to buy a membership and register before you can drink. You know, it really works as a disincentive to drink... I have no desire to buy a membership to a bunch of different bars. But alcohol is more readily available than I thought - There is a wine shop not too far from my house, and the coffee shop has buck-fifty beer night on Thursdays.
That's all for tonight. Tomorrow I'm going to Park City with Julie (the woman I stayed with when I first got here) and her 11-year old daughter Sammy. Then next week I get to work with Crossroads Urban Center while Brian is in Louisiana.
1. Salt Lake City is only 30% Mormon, a much lower percentage than the rest of Utah. I only live 3 blocks from Temple Square, but I don't have any sense of being a 'religious minority' at all. We'll see, I suppose, if that changes.
2. SLC is, of course, the state capitol of Utah. This in itself is relatively uninteresting, but the civic engagement here is pretty unique. The League of Women Voters is pretty freaking amazing. They take a good chunk of the local news time on the NPR station every morning to report in depth on what legislation is on the floor each day, and how votes turned out the previous day. They have an award-winning legislative website, and lots of people around seem to have a good sense of what's going on day-to-day on Utah's Capitol Hill. The LDS lobby is, of course, immense (we all saw that during the prop 8 battle), but there's a Coalition of Religious Communities (CORC) that advocates for progressive policies, and does a pretty great job of it. I'm looking forward to working with them on a couple of direct actions next week.
3. The mountains here are bigger than I could have imagined. They still surprise me every time I get a peek at them through the buildings or as I step outside. Nothing about living in Appalachia could have prepared me for the large-ness of the West.
4. Most of the energy in Utah comes from coal-fired power plants. But the concerns with the energy provider in town (Energy Solutions) don't have as much to do with that as they do with the desire to house nuclear waste in the nearby mountains. And we're not talking about nuclear waste from neighboring states, or even the US. I mean nuclear waste from Italy. The coal-fired power plants don't threaten the mountains here with mountaintop removal like they do in Appalachia. I'm no geologist, but I'd guess that's because the mountains here aren't old enough to be chock-full of coal like the ones out East. No, what threatens the mountains here are the threat of storing nuclear waste in them, and the open pit copper mine that has overtaken much of the East slope of the Ochres that faces the city. The land is largely privately-owned... it seems odd to me that someone can own a mountain. Though I suppose it's no more odd than "owning" any other piece of land.
5. There are TONS of independent coffee shops in Salt Lake. I'm pretty stoked about that. One of them is two doors down from where I live, and I'm enjoying the free internet access. There's also a pretty large vegetarian community, eco-friendly community, and general progressive community. I'm hoping to get plugged into some of that.
6. There's a pretty large immigrant community here as well. And immigration isn't particularly latino, as you might expect in the west. There are Tongans, Samoans, and Pakistanis who all have significant numbers here. I have asked several people why this is - and have come up with two main guesses: 1) SLC is probably a pretty good relocation site for refugees and asylees, and 2) A lot of immigration here has to do with returning LDS missionaries. Go figure. There are lots of immigrants at the local UMC near me, so I am hoping to learn some of their stories (I've already been offered a lesson in curry-making!!).
7. All the bars here are private clubs to which you have to buy a membership and register before you can drink. You know, it really works as a disincentive to drink... I have no desire to buy a membership to a bunch of different bars. But alcohol is more readily available than I thought - There is a wine shop not too far from my house, and the coffee shop has buck-fifty beer night on Thursdays.
That's all for tonight. Tomorrow I'm going to Park City with Julie (the woman I stayed with when I first got here) and her 11-year old daughter Sammy. Then next week I get to work with Crossroads Urban Center while Brian is in Louisiana.
Lenten Discipline
I learned long ago that giving up chocolate for Lent was not going to be a thing that suited me. I would spend my days longing for the stuff, eventually give in, then spend the next several weeks feeling guilty about not being able to keep my commitment - as though it was God's primary concern that I could abstain from sweets for a mere month-and-some. Frankly, I probably disappointed God more with my childish responses to having to refuse a piece of cake than with my eventual cave to a Snicker's bar.
So instead of replacing one bad habit with another, my mother and I decided a few years ago to pick up a discipline together. We were working together at the time, and we worked with some pretty difficult people. Some were going through difficult transitions in their lives and took their anger out on the rest of us, one felt threatened about her job, one just seemed to prefer to be angry. And a few of us had gotten in the bad habit of gossiping and complaining about work. That year, my mom and I decided to be intentional about speaking kindly about our co-workers. ALL of our co-workers. It was difficult at first. At first I just neglected to talk about work at all. But after awhile, I made myself learn more about my co-workers than the boxes I had placed them in. I learned what they liked to do in their free time, what they were passionate about, how they had been hurt or made glad by partners and friends. And after Lent was through... Mom and I still became frustrated with some of them. But instead of dwelling on those moments, we were able to move past them to common ground. We became happier, built relationships with our co-workers, and grew closer to one another as we shared the experience of this discipline with each other.
I've kept up this practice since then, choosing usually two disciplines to keep: one individual and one community-oriented. This year's discipline will (hopefully) be both. I've committed to writing and reflecting on a regular basis. I want to document my time in Salt Lake City, as well as prepare myself for what's ahead. I want to share my experience here with folks who have supported my getting here. And I want to do that in a way that's honest. I also want to get over the idea that everything I write has to be perfect, and move towards a place where I can process by writing. So I can't promise perfection, or even good writing. But I hope to be able to commit to regularity. And maybe an interesting thought now and again.
So instead of replacing one bad habit with another, my mother and I decided a few years ago to pick up a discipline together. We were working together at the time, and we worked with some pretty difficult people. Some were going through difficult transitions in their lives and took their anger out on the rest of us, one felt threatened about her job, one just seemed to prefer to be angry. And a few of us had gotten in the bad habit of gossiping and complaining about work. That year, my mom and I decided to be intentional about speaking kindly about our co-workers. ALL of our co-workers. It was difficult at first. At first I just neglected to talk about work at all. But after awhile, I made myself learn more about my co-workers than the boxes I had placed them in. I learned what they liked to do in their free time, what they were passionate about, how they had been hurt or made glad by partners and friends. And after Lent was through... Mom and I still became frustrated with some of them. But instead of dwelling on those moments, we were able to move past them to common ground. We became happier, built relationships with our co-workers, and grew closer to one another as we shared the experience of this discipline with each other.
I've kept up this practice since then, choosing usually two disciplines to keep: one individual and one community-oriented. This year's discipline will (hopefully) be both. I've committed to writing and reflecting on a regular basis. I want to document my time in Salt Lake City, as well as prepare myself for what's ahead. I want to share my experience here with folks who have supported my getting here. And I want to do that in a way that's honest. I also want to get over the idea that everything I write has to be perfect, and move towards a place where I can process by writing. So I can't promise perfection, or even good writing. But I hope to be able to commit to regularity. And maybe an interesting thought now and again.
Friday, January 23, 2009
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