Sabbatical Road

Part of the CouchSurfing Community!

2010-06-19T17:24:00.000-07:00

Our goal is to create a beloved community, and this will require a qualitative change in our souls as well as a quantitative change in our lives. ~ Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
We envision a world where everyone can explore and create meaningful connections with the people and places we encounter. Building meaningful connections across cultures enables us to respond to diversity with curiosity, appreciation and respect. The appreciation of diversity spreads tolerance and creates a global community. ~ CouchSurfing vision statement

I’m psyched about couch surfing (couchsurfing.org). Because it provides a secure way for strangers to meet and stay in each other’s homes, it’s a great way to build community that transcends geographical boundaries. I was privileged to stay with some hospitable people in Canada, and Jim and I have begun to host people in our home, too. It’s already been enriching!
I love meeting people with an adventuresome spirit. I love the idea that people are willing to be open and available to each other, with no motive for personal gain. I love that the human community is simultaneously becoming larger and smaller. Above all, I love that humans can see ourselves as part of a worldwide community (I used to think it would take an attack from outer space for a global community to coalesce).
Here’s one more quote, from Desmond Tutu: We think of ourselves far too frequently as just individuals, separated from one another, whereas you are connected and what you do affects the whole world. When you do well, it spreads out; it is for the whole of humanity.
Amen, brother.

On Making it Home

2010-06-01T07:35:00.000-07:00

Wendell Berry’s story, Making it Home, has a lot to say about coming home after a long journey. I’ve changed the gender because it fits me so well:

She had crossed the wide ocean and many a river...[She] had come a long way, trusting somebody else to know where she was, and now she knew where she was herself. ...Once it had seemed to her that she walked only on the place where she was. But now, having gone and returned from so far, she knew that she was walking on the whole round world.

It’s an artifact of having been gone a long time that, at first, home feels a little foreign even as it feels familiar. Yesterday, having been home a week, I finally started to feel “at-homeness” all the way down to my bone marrow. Now I can begin nurturing the tender sprouts that are springing from the seeds planted on the road trip.

Here’s today’s question: Who am I when I am far from anyone who knows who I am?

Home!

2010-05-24T12:16:00.000-07:00

Two months, 5500 miles, 19 states, 2 Canadian provinces, and the District of Columbia; 3 car ferries, 3 big city metro systems, and countless interstates. I put quite a few miles on the Keens...

...but the bug-spattered snout of my Corolla says it all.

It's a blessing to be home at last.

Nova Scotia, Eh!

2010-05-18T18:33:00.000-07:00

It turns out that the convenient, fast ferry from Bar Harbor Maine to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia is OUT OF SERVICE. So on Monday I took a little drive up the coast to St. John, New Brunswick. Natives tell me it's like Topeka, in that people who visit St. John are usually on their way to someplace more interesting.

Still, there was a cool City Market.

Here's another, more dismaying discovery I made: There is such a thing as the Atlantic Time Zone, and St. John is in it. So, when I rolled up to the ferry terminal after a leisurely drive, the ferry was just leaving. Instead of being 55 minutes early, I was 5 minutes late. Next ferry: 11 p.m., getting into Nova Scotia at 2 in the morning. Blarg.

I opted to stay the night in New Brunswick. But where? An expensive hotel? What a bite that would take out of my budget.

In an earlier attempt to find a couch surfing spot in St. John (see couchsurfing.org) I obtained a phone number for Debbie, a local who couldn't host me but offered to get together for coffee if I was ever in town at loose ends. Boy, was I ever at loose ends. I called Debbie, and she met me for a walk and talk. Soon she called up her sister, who agreed to let me stay on the futon in her basement. So, instead of a lonely and pricey hotel, I got to stay with a Canadian/German couple and their 10 year old son. They even welcomed me in for dinner and a family movie! I felt truly blessed by their hospitality to a wayfaring stranger.

Finally, with my watch set on Atlantic time, I made it onto the ferry today. The Princess of Acadia is big and brash and holds lots of people, cars, and cargo. Here's her bridge, from the upper deck.

And below, where my trusty Corolla was safely stowed.

And a shot of the lifeboats hanging above the lower deck. That's the Bay of Fundy we're sailing on.

And here is the entrance to the Digby Gut, a protected cove along the coast of Nova Scotia.

And the quaint little harbor at Digby Town, the Scallop Capital of the World. (Had 'em for dinner--yum.)

A few hours later the harbor starts to look like someone's pulled the drain plug! Where is the water going? It's the massive tide, on its way to a 30' drop (2 times each day). Some places around Fundy Bay have an 80' tide!

2010-05-16T14:50:00.000-07:00

Took a couple of nice hikes today. The first one started on Sand Beach, just south of Bar Harbor (on Mount Desert Island).

Up a steep cliff there was a stunning view!

Later I hiked around a small lake and admired the trees. (This cathedral beat all those old churches.)

2010-05-12T09:41:00.000-07:00

Maine is like a picture postcard.

Clearly, though, there are hazards to watch out for.

...Especially if you're a lobster.

Here is my friend Linda introducing Crusty to the hot tub at Clary Lake B & B. His line: "How's the water, Fred? ...FRED?? AAAAUGH!!"

Notice how Crusty stares accusingly at us through the steam.

Ahhh, dinner--we added bread to this meal so there'd be three things on which to put butter.

Make Way for Boston!

2010-05-10T12:43:00.000-07:00

New England is an experience unto itself. Here’s an example of Yankee ingenuity. (I hear this kind of thriftiness is making a comeback.)

And in Boston the dead may vote, but they dare not park.

While in Boston I stopped at headquarters (ha--UUA offices, 25 Beacon Street)...

...and practiced intoning great truths at William Ellery Channing’s very own lectern.

So as not to leave out our Universalist brethren, here is Hosea Ballou.

Nearby is King’s Chapel, a 17th century church that’s been Unitarian in theology for nearly 200 years. Here’s how this pulpit design could work for us at UUFT: imagine that the umbrella-like structure on top slid steadily downward during the sermon, thus encouraging the preacher to be brief (or stay encased in the pulpit till coffee hour). Not surprisingly, the King’s Chapel staff declined to let me mount the steed for a photo op.

And here’s the “Governor’s Box,” meant to hold the King’s representative when he attended services. George Washington once sat here to attend a benefit concert after the revolution.

Are you saturated with photos of the grande dames of Unitarian Universalism? But wait! You haven’t even been to Arlington Street Church yet.

This is Channing’s church. A statue of him stands in brooding vigil across the street.

Arlington Street has some of the best Tiffany stained glass windows in Boston. This is the Annunciation.

During the Mother’s Day service a child dedication honored Kobe, and his two daddies. (No, without even the slightest hint of irony.)

Other Boston sights included the North End, a picturesque Italian neighborhood where I tried (and failed) to eat a whole cannoli, and where Jenn G. and I got lots of belly laughs at an improv comedy club.

And here we are at the Public Garden on a c-c-cold May morning.

There are real and virtual swans on the lake here, and for you Robert McCloskey fans, there is an homage to his beloved ducks. Here is Mrs. Mallard, and a few of the brood (I don’t know whether this shot includes Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack, or Quack).

And one more statue from the Public Garden was left untitled. I call it: Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot??

2010-05-06T10:01:00.000-07:00

On a side trip to Newport R.I. I visited the Touro Synagogue, the oldest synagogue in North America and a symbol of American religious freedom. Touro was founded by Sephardic Jews who came to America by way of Amsterdam and the West Indies, seeking a place to freely live and worship. In a nice Colonial touch, it was built by a Quaker Carpenter.

Rhode Island was the first colony to declare independence from England, and so Newport was occupied by the British early on. The Rabbi of Touro Synagogue invited the Brits in to use the space as a hospital. (He removed all the brass and scrolls, of course.) Other Americans accused him of being a British sympathizer. But the synagogue was unmolested, and survives today.

Rhode Island was the last of the 13 states to sign the U.S. constitution, and didn’t do so until the 2nd version of the Bill of Rights and the 1st Amendment were complete. They valued religious freedom that much. And in answer to a letter from the synagogue’s president, George Washington wrote...

The Citizens of the United States of America have a right to applaud themselves for having given to mankind examples of an enlarged and liberal policy... All possess alike liberty of conscience and immunities of citizenship. It is now no more that toleration is spoken of, as if it was by the indulgence of one class of people, that another enjoyed the exercise of their inherent national gifts. For happily the Government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens, in giving it on all occasions their effectual support.

...thus saying two essential things: There would be no persecution of minority religious groups, AND Jews could be citizens like anyone else.

It’s no surprise that Unitarians also found Rhode Island to be a hospitable place. Here is Channing Memorial Church in Newport...

...and facing it, in a park across the street, is a statue of William Ellery Channing himself!

Rhode Island!

2010-05-05T16:15:00.001-07:00

Here’s my way cool cousin Laurie, and her beloved Paulo, introducing me to one of Rhode Island’s finest!!

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. (sigh)

Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore!

2010-05-03T09:32:00.000-07:00

Ah, New York City! The hustle, the bustle, the grit and the grime...but the people are really friendly (and helpful to goobs bewildered in the subway), and there’s something almost magical about all that energy. From the skyline,

...to the highline (a cool urban garden thriving in old, abandoned elevated train tracks).

And of course seeing Jim was a breath of fresh air on the sabbatical. Here we are in Central Park...

We went most of the expected tourist places, like Chinatown...

And the Statue of Liberty...

And I was privileged to stand in the Great Hall of Ellis Island, the gateway my grandparents came through when they arrived in the U.S., about 100 years ago. It was moving to be there and strange to be just 2 generations removed from a couple of illiterate Russian peasants who’d just left everything familiar (perhaps so that their granddaughter could stand in that hall as a well educated, middle class American woman). Ellis Island was where the Romantum name was invented, by the way. Since Grandpa couldn’t spell his name, I guess it made no difference to him how the immigration clerk wrote it down.

We went to All Souls (yes, another one), which really was as staid as it looked.

And we saw the NYC Ballet at Lincoln Center (which turned into a $20 nap for Jim).

Some of the best parts were the cheapest. We went to a Moth Story Slam (and if you don’t know the Moth Podcast, find it NOW) and heard some great music in the subway. Here’s a guy with a really cool homemade dobro!

And of course, they don’t charge for looking at the sights! (Picture me gaping open mouthed, with a Gomer Pyle-esque “goll-y”–– that was my NYC default mode.)

2010-04-30T07:39:00.000-07:00

I went to Genesis Farm, an ecological learning center in western New Jersey, for a workshop on how to build resilient communities in light of the coming ecological and economic instability. Here is the main farmhouse at Genesis Farm:

The oldest part of the farmhouse was built in the early 19th century, and you can still see the hand-hewn beams in the (now modernized) kitchen.

The Dominican Sisters who own and operate Genesis Farm have tried to make their place as self-sustaining as possible. They grow chickens, raise bees, grow big gardens -- of course all the food they serve is vegetarian, much of it produced on or around Genesis Farm.

Here are the solar panels that provide much of the electricity. The building in the background is a library/conference space.

They've put in an open-air tipi, and one of the rituals we did started there, and included a welcome from the land. In the foreground you can still see part of the sacred circle the conference participants cast on the ground to make a ritual space.

This charming hermitage is a straw bale house! Note the solar panel.

And of course no tour of Genesis Farm would be complete without a view of the composting toilet. ;-)

The conference--about 20 participants--learned a lot about peak oil (i.e., the time when oil exploration/extraction/refining will reach peak capacity; we've probably already passed that point). But we focused on very hopeful visions of what our communities might look like as we power down from the era of cheap fossil fuels. Here is one of the break out groups being visionary.

I loved that the conference was at a place where we could practice much of what we were learning to preach. We built a hopeful, resilient community right there on the spot! Some of the more local participants brought things like homemade yogurt, applesauce, garlic, and other tasty delights to share with the group.

And OK, I knew New Jersey was called the "garden state," but I thought that was kind of a joke. I expected to see an industrial wasteland. I guess they let that stereotype go unchallenged to keep the riff raff out.

Next stop: New York City!

Whirlwind Washington D.C.!!

2010-04-22T06:11:00.000-07:00

What a great trip to Washington D.C., with terrific hosts (Kent and Beth) and an old friend (Jeanna) helping me find my way to some spectacular stuff. Pictures are worth a thousand words, so...

Beth and I were standing at the Lincoln memorial, right near the spot where Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. gave his "I Have a Dream" speech.

What a thrill to see FLOTUS' inauguration gown!!

A pilgrimage to see national treasures doesn't get any better than this:

Beth and I went to the Holocaust Memorial, which was awesome and very moving. Very well done--even those of you who think you know that story, put it on your Washington D.C. "must see" list. And we went on the anniversary of the OKC bombing, so seeing The McVeigh Tapes (Maddow's special) that night was a strange bookend.

Fortunately, there is hope in, and for, the world. Kent and Beth and I went to All Souls Unitarian Church last Sunday.

Imagine gathering and worshiping inside this eye candy each week.

They are warm and joyous, and diverse in every way. And their music program is unbeatable.

And I guess part of what it means to be Rev. Rob Hardies, minister there, is that every visiting minister from Podunk USA wants to pose with him when we're in town! (In the background is the Rev. Dr. Susan Newman, a nationally recognized preacher, the day's guest speaker.)

My friend Jeanna took me to the Congressional Cemetery, where many illustrious people were buried (including some members of congress. No, I won't suggest any names of current congressional "leaders" who should hie them hence.) The most moving one to me was the grave of decorated veteran Leonard Matlovich.

He also had a bench next to his grave with this quote:
If you have done nothing to erase prejudice wherever it exists, best weep for yourself and your country. Cliff Anchor

Washington, D.C. has been a wonderful stop on this journey!

Ocean and life and death

2010-04-15T07:17:00.000-07:00

It’s a blessing to be near an unspoiled corner of Earth (thanks to the federally protected National Wildlife Refuge). I won’t even go into the strangeness of protecting chunks of land while exploiting others right across an invisible boundary –– I’ll save that for a later post. Meanwhile, I’ve had many good long walks and a picnic lunch on the sand overlooking the Back Bay (the water between the sandy barrier island I’m on and the actual edge of the continent).

The ocean has revealed several distinct aspects of its faceted personality this week. When I arrived it was tranquil and gentle. As a squall blew in mid week, the ocean churned and tossed (bringing the “oceans, white with foam” image to this simple mind). The ocean’s sound is variable, too, going from a soothing whoosh to a roar to a pounding presence.

As I’ve watched and listened to the waves this week I can’t help but think of my aunt Joan (pron. joANN), who passed away Monday morning. My thoughts are drawn to an image of life, death, and eternity that a friend once shared: He said that, in his mind’s eye, all life is part of a vast oceanic reality. Individual lives are like waves that rise and fall, crest and crash, and ultimately return to their source.
I watched the waves and thought of Aunt Joan, and others whom I’ve loved and bid farewell. Though it’s easy to miss the distinct character of each wave within the larger context, there are definite differences between them. Some pound and crash, often nearly spending their energy by the time they reach shore. Others are more gentle and soothing. All bring gifts from the depths.

Joan was like one of the subtle waves. She seldom raged or pounded (at least not in my hearing), yet she inexorably sculpted the landscape of my life and left a lasting presence. She was a smart, self-possessed, well-educated woman in a time and place where that was not common. She and her husband were in a relationship of equals, something that was fostered by her economic independence but was not only because of that. I think she wouldn’t have accepted anything else. Joan was clearly in love with Uncle John throughout their long marriage, but I got a sense that he’d had to court her, to win her. Somehow the courtship never quite ended –– and she seemed worth the effort.
Joan had style all her own; she was a gracious hostess and a good cook and it seemed she could make any plant grow and flourish. Her indoor kumquat tree bore fruit every year, which seems now like a metaphor for a life that bore fruit through patient tending and nurturing. Her life brought gifts forth from the depths, and deposited them on the sparkling shore. (No small example is her modeling for me a relationship that could embody both fidelity and romance over the course of a lifetime.)
I’m sad about the loss of my aunt, but not sad for her. She had been increasingly affected by Alzheimer’s in recent years; it had settled across her mind like a scum of oil over an ocean wave. For her I imagine death to be a blessed relief in which the body’s propulsive energy plays itself out like a wave reaching its fingers up the beach, finally giving in to the pull of the ocean, the power of returning (and, one hopes, joyously reuniting).
Go in peace, noble spirit. The many who have loved you now walk along the shore and lift up your gifts, collect them like bright shells in baskets. One day I hope we meet again in the mysterious depths.

Beach, doing nothing.

2010-04-12T06:16:00.001-07:00

"...There should be places, and times too, in which we do nothing." --Wendell Berry

Too bad I can't get the video of the beach to upload. Picture a pristine beach in the morning light, with no one but me and a few gulls on it. Sea oats blow, waves crash. Got it? Great. Someday I'll figure out how to post my .MOV file. Meanwhile, here's a still photo.

Photons from the road

2010-04-06T10:50:00.000-07:00

Having a great time, and some great dreams indicating some renovations to interior architecture to accommodate growth. Here are a few of the photons I've captured along the way.

Esther Miller and Mina were wonderful hostesses in Black Mountain, NC (just East of Asheville).

And who doesn't love a giant red penguin??

A practice of Presence

2010-04-01T09:38:00.000-07:00

Asheville is an arty, wonderfully weird community nestled in the Blue Ridge mountains. The mornings are cold and frosty, but once the sun rises above the mountains things warm up and the pines breathe their intoxicating scent into the air. There are lots of neat restaurants that specialize in local and organic food, plenty of accessible art, and terrific, independent bookstores. What’s not to love? Especially for an Enneagram Type 7 like me (nicknamed “The Epicure,” Type 7 is interested in everything to the point of distractibility).
I’ve been meeting with Sandra Smith, a consultant in the Enneagram (a conceptual system for understanding personality). The Enneagram doesn’t claim to describe The Truth about a person, it just offers a model for understanding one’s cognitive/emotional structure and the way it functions. Some traits are hard wired, and others are adaptations we developed in childhood that may be maladaptive in adult life. Understanding and awareness can lead one to a sense of being truly at home in one’s inner world, and can offer a way to continue to progress in a human journey of ongoing personal growth and transformation.
One of the features of my type structure is living in the future, reaching out for all the bright possibilities there. A positive consequence is that I can see a clear vision of a preferred future, and I can see the path that connects there to here. A hindrance is that I don’t always appreciate the here! Sandra says: Practice the muscle of Presence.
Today I’m strengthening that muscle by regularly reminding myself to be here, in the now. As I soak in the sunshine and wonders of Asheville, I’m practicing groundedness.

ART!

2010-03-25T12:54:00.000-07:00

Saw great art today in lovely Louisville, KY. See the fabulous video by Kenneth Tin-Kin Hung:
http://www.tinkin.com/arts/obama/

On the road!

2010-03-23T11:17:00.000-07:00

It seems surreal to finally be travelling, after so long planning and packing. Listening to "Into the Wild" on CD (thanks, Lib & Ross) steeps me in the primordial urge to cast off from safe ports and sail into the unknown. Maybe it was too much for me--I've ended up @ McD's for lunch. Oh well, I plead starvation. When a billboard pic of a bridge at sunset looked like a cheeseburger, I knew I had to stop without further delay. (And the wifi is a nice thing, too.) Time to get back on the road. Wearing KS near my heart. (Thanks, Bailey.)

Hail to Spring. Yes, really.

2010-03-20T08:53:00.000-07:00

In spite of – or maybe because of – the snowy white winter scene that surrounds me, I feel a need to praise spring. In light of this last (it had better be) blast of winter, here are some words from the Unitarian Henry Thoreau, from Walden:

Everyone has heard the story which has gone the rounds of New England, of a strong and beautiful bug which came out of the [wood] of an old table … which had stood in a farmer’s kitchen for sixty years, first in Connecticut, and afterward in Massachusetts, ––from an egg deposited in the living tree many years earlier still … [The bug] was heard gnawing out for several weeks, hatched perchance by the heat of an urn.

Who does not feel his faith in a resurrection … strengthened by hearing of this? Who knows what beautiful and winged life, whose egg has been buried for ages under many concentric layers of woodenness in the dead dry life of society, deposited at first in the alburnum of the green and living tree, which has been gradually converted into the semblance of its well-seasoned tomb, ––heard perchance gnawing out now for years by the astonished family of man, as they sat round the festive board, ––may unexpectedly come forth from amidst society’s most trivial … furniture, to enjoy its perfect summer life at last!

All hail the beautiful and winged life that stirs in us today, in springtime.

On the drive home from LA

2010-03-19T13:09:00.000-07:00

The drive home from Louisiana was great (the trip was great, too) but after a while the anti-choice billboards really made me grind my teeth. They started on I 55 in Mississippi and were especially prevalent in Arkansas and Missouri, continuing with great frequency along I 70. They were crude and emotional (a thumb-sucking fetus with the slogan, “Don’t kill me, Mommy!”) and often included Bible quotes yanked out of context (an ultrasound photo with the line, “Woman, behold thy son”) and I started to wonder why the pro-choice movement doesn’t counter with some billboards of our own.

The first one I’d like to put up would have 2 words: TRUST WOMEN, with the web address of Planned Parenthood or NARAL under that. I’d also like to see a “Prayerfully Pro Choice” billboard with a photo of a family praying, and the RCRC web address underneath. And a “Pro-Faith, Pro-Choice” featuring a family in church (and the RCRC address) would be a good one, too.

But here’s my over-the-top billboard idea. Picture a side view of a woman lying prone and draped on an exam table, feet in stirrups. A stern-faced male doctor with some outlandish googly goggles peers between her knees, while a government bureaucrat stands looking over his shoulder, noting something on a clip board. The caption would read: KEEP THE GOVERNMENT OUT OF MY WOMB! (Maybe the bureaucrat would have the face of Bart Stupak or some other bigot.)

I know it’s crude and emotional and potentially offensive to many, but see the above descriptions of the anti-choice billboards. At about $2500 a month it’s not an insignificant investment to put one of these billboards up. But the far right has succeeded in getting the U.S. congress and president to ban federal funding for a legal medical procedure with proven benefits to women’s health from the health care bill –– I think it’s time to admit that their crude, emotional and potentially offensive ads have worked.

In hijacking the national conversation about reproductive freedom, the far right has been able to claim that theirs is the ONLY faith-full perspective, and the only family/woman/child honoring viewpoint. Now they claim that choice equals genocide against African Americans. (See Melissa Harris-Lacewell’s latest in The Nation: http://www.thenation.com/doc/20100405/harris-lacewell)

I know, leftist liberal folks like me are supposed to be above the low down dirty tactics of the right wing. Yeah, that’s why the “elitist” charge sticks so well, and may be part of the reason Americans’ reproductive freedom is facing erosion like never before. I say: Let’s get dirty.

A note from New Orleans

2010-03-13T14:21:00.000-08:00

In the midst of emerging spring, in the city whose natives describe her as “the crotch of America,” I wonder: Is there a chance to redeem the notion of the erotic from the purely sexual and pornographic?

Here are Terry Tempest Williams’ thoughts on “The Erotic Landscape,” from Red:

I wonder about our notion of the erotic –– why it is so often aligned with the pornographic, the limited view of the voyeur watching the act of intercourse without any interest in the relationship itself.

I wonder what walls we have constructed to keep our true erotic nature tamed. And I am curious why we continue to distance ourselves from natural sources.

What are we afraid of?

The world we frequently surrender to defies our participation in nature and seduces us into believing that our only place in the wild is as spectator, onlooker. A society of individuals who only observe a landscape from behind the lens of a camera or the window of an automobile without entering in is perhaps no different from the person who obtains sexual gratification from looking at the sexual play of others.

...[true, deep] eroticism, being in relation, calls the inner life into play. No longer numb, we feel the magnetic pull in our bodies toward something stronger, more vital than simply ourselves.

Looking at some tiny purple crocuses blooming in my front yard last Sunday I had a brief experience of this landscape of erotic bliss. Not experiencing the natural world as cut-flowers-in-a-vase, but as rooted and living, an integrated part of the natural world, the difference between looking at pictures of disembodied genitalia and actually making sweet, succulent love with one’s beloved.

Then last night, strolling up Bourbon Street and looking at the vacant-eyed, barely clad women beckoning from the doorways of nightclubs, I felt the stark difference. The hawkers promised sexual gratification, but I think while the voyeurism of watching live sex shows and “barely legal” strippers might lead to momentary satiation, it could never produce real satisfaction.

Williams quotes D.H. Lawrence: “There exist two great modes of life––the religious and the sexual.” And she says that “eroticism is the bridge” between these two modes. What would happen if we engaged with eros, that bold and juicy energy that suffuses everything with passion and power? It would be scary. And it might be the only thing that could span the chasm.

Evolutionary Spirituality

2010-03-08T07:24:00.000-08:00

I'm getting really inspired by the evolutionary spirituality movement, and I think Unitarian Universalism is one of the best mediums for growing these important ideas (as well as one of the best vehicles for transmitting them). Since UU forebears really came into their own in the era when humanity had some understanding of evolution, we have formed much of our faith in the light of that knowledge. I don't mean to imply that UU is the only faith through which humanity can realize a fuller spiritual perspective, but I think we have tremendous potential.

Here's a link to a podcast of Evolutionary Evangelist Michael Dowd's latest sermon on the next evolutionary step -- cultural evolution. (And by the way, the lovely kid in the photo is MY gorgeous daughter, at the Topeka zoo.)

http://evolutionaryevangelists.libsyn.com/index.php?post_id=590283

Seven Aspirations

2010-03-02T05:52:00.000-08:00

I just finished a journal notebook - it always seems like such an accomplishment, to put the "end date" on one notebook and rubber band it, put it aside, pick up a fresh one.

The rubber band is because I always end up with extraneous pieces of paper stuck in, usually things I wrote when I didn't have my journal handy. One of those fell out into my lap this morning, apparently begging to be read again. It was my list of "Seven Aspirations," written in the summer of 2008 on the trip to beautiful Wyoming. It seemed like a good list to be reminded of as I begin this sabbatical journey.

Here are my aspirations:

Seven Aspirations:

Be a traveler, not a tourist.

Be an adventurer, not a refugee.

Be inquisitive, not acquisitive.

Be as spender of life, not a saver of souls.

Be a human being, not a human doing.

Be awake, not asleep.

Be more of a listener, less of a talker.

Haha, I notice with some chagrin that I wasn't able to say "NOT a talker." What a surprise, eh? ;-)

2010-02-28T15:02:00.000-08:00

Whew, what a great sendoff at UUFT today. I'm honored to be in ministry there.

Though a sermon is really an oral event, and reading the manuscript is something like reading the script for a play, here is the text for the farewell sermon:

Traveling Towards Emptiness: A Farewell before Sabbatical
February 28, 2010
by Rev. Lisa Romantum Schwartz

About a month ago I went to a workshop to help lay the foundation for my sabbatical. It was especially geared to ministers, though there were lay leaders there as well. The experience was designed to facilitate self-exploration in the context of spiritual seeking. In the midst of that workshop there was one particular exercise that was both scary and fruitful for me. I invite you now to participate in an adaptation of the exercise.

I’ll ask you a single question several times, and I hope that as you hear the question repeated you can answer from a deeper place each time. Here is the question: Who are you when you are not busy? (Take some time with this question if you can.)

The workshop was wonderful on many levels, but that exercise led me to the most profound revelation about myself I’ve had in quite a while. As my dyad partner asked me the question, sometimes softly, sometimes insistently, I began to get in touch with lots of feelings. When I’m not busy, I must be … lazy. Busy hands are HAPPY hands, after all, and idle hands are the devil’s playground.

It was amazing to me that so much old baggage was easily dredged up. (Was it that way for you?) Clearly, my comfort zone includes a lot of busyness. And I don’t think I’m alone. Unitarian Universalists are often most comfortable when we are busy, when we are talking, debating, studying and analyzing.

You know what’s right outside the comfort zone? The learning zone. That’s right – when you’re in your comfort zone, not much learning can take place. The most profound growth and learning experiences are often dis-comforting, unsettling. If nothing else, there’s discomfort in realizing: I don’t know as much as I thought I did.

But if we must be discomforted to be in the learning zone, it doesn’t mean we ought to be scared. Farther outside the learning zone is: The Panic Zone. And once you get there, learning has stopped and survival mode kicks in. So the challenge for people who want to learn and grow is to get out of the comfort zone and be willing to feel unsettled, but to stop short of absolute panic.

My comfort zone is a busy, busy, busy, place, enforced with lots of deep-seated fears about being, or appearing to be, lazy. To get into my learning zone – the sabbatical zone – I need to let go of the busyness, to be a human being, instead of a human doing. It sounds simple: Take an extended period of time to stop doing so much.

But as this sabbatical time has approached, I’ve found it’s difficult to imagine disengaging from doing. My doing, my job, is after all a key source of my identity. Which is not to say that my identity is entirely bound up in being a minister. But a lot of it is. And it has become … comfortable. And that means I have some exploring to do.

In his book, Just Work, Harvard political theorist Russell Muirhead says:

Along with family and religion, work remains one of the central activities constituting everyday life. Work is instrumental (we work to earn and spend), but work is rarely only that: it is also formative. Devoting the bulk of our waking hours to a particular activity over many years has an effect on who we are, whether we like it or not...

So it’s not just a personal problem, but a cultural focus on work and its rewards. As the reading (The Sabbath Habit, from Breakfast Epiphanies by David Anderson) by Anderson suggested, our chronic overwork may even be an addiction. Being busy, even to the point where we neglect our families and our hobbies and our health (and work ourselves to the point of exhaustion) is an American badge of honor.

Gordon MacKenzie, who worked for Hallmark for 30 years, says:

When [an organization, or a culture] prizes those who are heroically overworked in stress-filled jobs, a siren song whispers to everyone else… Make your job difficult, stretch yourself thin, stress yourself out, and eventually you, too, may be honored with … [our] approval. If you desire the blessing of the Mighty Corporate [Bosses, or perhaps the UUFT Board of Trustees, congregational leaders, minister, or DRE,] work longer hours (than is sensible), take on more responsibility (than is sensible), make your job harder (than is sensible). …This cultural seduction plays into the old illusion that if we just work hard enough and we just work long enough we will finally be found valuable, finally be found lovable, and finally find security.

A “cultural seduction:” that image resonates for me. And I couldn’t resist adding the UUFT language into MacKenzie’s stuff, because I have to wonder: how is it that this place, our beloved community, asks so much of volunteer staff (and paid staff too) that we run the risk of burning them out? I think this is worth looking at, if we really are a Beloved Community.

What makes this place a holy place is not that God Lives Here. Unitarian Universalist Theists don’t locate God within a building, not even a UU church or a Fellowship. One thing that, for me, makes this place holy is that our community dares to challenge the cultural norms that surround us in our daily lives.

In so many ways we embody counter cultural values: We accept and celebrate all kinds of families, all kinds of spiritual paths, we teach children and youth about sexuality, giving them accurate and age-appropriate information, we stand on the side of love and support civil rights for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people, and work to uphold the disempowered and disinherited through many social justice initiatives, we care for our earth, and try in many small ways (and some large) to make a real difference in the health of our planet. How did such a proudly counter-cultural place manage to so deeply embrace the cultural value of overwork?

We may like to think that, like the lotus, we are “in the muddy water, but not of it,” but the muddy waters of overwork formed us, and nourish us still. And there is some great, rewarding stuff about work, or should be. But it’s wise to be very aware of the seductive qualities of work, and ask a lot of questions.

For instance, in an article on considering a call to the UU ministry, Greg Pelley asks, “If my job … is to be the key source of my identity, what do I want that identity to be?”

Once, I thought I knew. When I went to seminary I was 30 years old. I had a recently-weaned toddler, and a relatively new marriage. I knew I was called to ministry, because I felt an inexorable pull to this work. I didn’t know if I was called by a Who or a What, or if the “call” I heard was merely the echo of my own yearning, but I felt compelled to answer.

Now, at 51, I have an adult child, a marriage approaching a quarter-century mark, and my ministry involves a relationship of deep trust and mutual challenge with a community that is truly beloved to me. I still know I’m called to this work, and to this place. But what is it to be called at this stage of life, to a particular, beloved place? I need to spend some time exploring that, and I know that unless I get out of my comfort zone (busy busy busy) I won’t be able to delve very deeply into that holy ground.

So, here I am, about to launch into my first-ever sabbatical, a time to rest and refresh, and to explore my personal, spiritual, and professional self more deeply than I can in just a few days or a few weeks off. I thank you for giving me this opportunity, and if you’re wondering, “Wait, what do we get out of this?” don’t be embarrassed –– you’re surely not alone.

The Unitarian Universalist Association believes that minister’s sabbaticals strengthen our movement, and that’s one of the reasons a sabbatical has become standard practice in UU congregations. And of course a congregation gets direct benefits, too; they get a refreshed and renewed minister, a leader who’s tanked up and ready to go for another bunch of years. While those are both reasonable benefits to expect, you ought to hold out for even more.

Since all Unitarian Universalist congregations are lay led, meaning that the bulk of the decision-making and of the sweat equity falls to the members and friends of the Fellowship, it’s important to have a strong and vital lay leadership. Sometimes, ever so subtly, when the minister’s around, certain tasks get shifted to her. And especially if the minister’s a task-oriented person who’s identity is tied up with being busy busy busy, she gamely takes it on. Soon, no one but the minister even knows how to do certain tasks.

I’ve begun to realize that when I overfunction the lay leadership is actually disempowered. That’s not the kind of minister I want to be, or the kind of congregation I want to serve. So, another benefit of the minister being away is that the laity gets to step up. And if that provokes some anxiety, feels discomforting … that’s OK, you’re just in your learning zone.

As I’ve approached this sabbatical, though, I’ve recognized that what may be the most important thing about it is the model it presents for taking a rest, letting go of busyness, permission to slow down. Several of you have said to me, “I need a sabbatical, too!” And –– you are absolutely right. Everyone would benefit from a sabbath rest.

Some of you lay leaders, you who are approaching burnout (and you know who you are) need to follow my lead, and step back. Encourage those who are standing in the wings, eagerly awaiting an opportunity, to give leadership a try.

But most importantly, I hope that everyone takes a chance to explore what a sabbath rest might look like for you. Saturday is the traditional day –– in Spanish, Sabado (Saturday) even sounds like sabbath. (They have a common root.) What would happen if you and your loved ones decided that on an upcoming Saturday you’d take a day of rest? Not just sleeping in an extra hour before heading off to do errands, but a whole day of rest. A rest from going anywhere, a rest from logging on to the internet, answering the phone... a day to play games, look at old family photos or videos, not even getting out of your pajamas until you feel like it, if you feel like it. What if you spent time just resting, reading, eating pancakes or maybe have a pizza delivered right to your door? And what if you brought to consciousness that, in some religious traditions, taking one day every week for that kind of rest is actually a commandment, on the order of “thou shalt not steal, murder, or lie?”

Remember, if even pondering the idea is uncomfortable, you’re ripe for some deep learning. And if you have to start with a half Sabbath, so be it. I’m betting you’ll notice some benefits, and you’ll be willing to try it again, a little longer. Maybe not for five months... and actually, I’m not planning on spending five months in my pajamas, eating delivery pizza. (Though it’s tempting.)

After a week’s rest, Jim and I are traveling to New Orleans to attend a family wedding. Once we get back to Topeka, I’ll pack up books and art supplies and yarn and I’ll head east on I-70. I’ll stop and visit my sister, and spend a few unhurried days with her on my way to Asheville, North Carolina.

In Asheville I’ll do some 1:1 spiritual direction with the woman who led the workshop I attended last month. I know she’ll challenge me to leave that comfort zone and begin a sojourn in the learning zone. From Asheville I’ll travel to the beach, rent an inexpensive condo for a week (yay for off season rates) and try to soak in the new ideas I got in spiritual direction.

After a stop in Washington, D.C. I’m traveling to New Jersey to spend a few days at Genesis Farm, a learning center for Earth studies. They focus on the ways that having healthy local communities and bioregions is the first step towards a healthy “global commons,” the air, water, land and nature shared by humanity. Genesis Farm is rooted in a spirituality that reverences Earth as a primary revelation of the divine, and they run a sustainable community farm on their land.

After that experience, Jim and I will celebrate our 24th anniversary in NYC!! And from there I’ll see friends and family in Rhode Island, Boston, and Maine. Along the entire route I’ll attend worship at other UU Fellowships and churches. And, during this five months, I won’t be logging on to Facebook, or email, or checking my cell phone messages and texts. Those are powerfully seductive tools, too, and though it makes me uncomfortable, I know I need to unplug for awhile.

Once I get to Bar Harbor, Maine I’ll drive my Corolla onto a ferry and sail over to Nova Scotia. My plan is to drive up into New Brunswick, and then west across the southern part of Canada. I should be home by June, and I’m planning to be at General Assembly, that wonderful, annual international convention of Unitarian Universalists, which this year will be held in Minneapolis. I sincerely hope to see some of you there. (Registration and reservations open online tomorrow.)

I know that when I come back from my sabbatical I will be full of energy, ready to dive back into busy-ness. And I know that I’ll have to resist the temptation to just pick up where I left off, doing the same things in the same way. If a sabbatical isn’t transformational, why bother?

I plan to be in ministry here, with this Fellowship, for many more years, and every relationship, like every dancing couple, needs to learn a few new steps every so often in order to keep the dance interesting, and healthy. On the day that I was “officially installed” as your minister, in a ceremony full of pomp and splendor, we blessed our relationship with the song, Let it Be a Dance. We knew we’d have to negotiate some back and forth, try not to step on each other’s toes too much, and that both of us would have to learn to follow and lead. We knew even then that good dancing is about staying connected even in the moments of separation. I’d welcome your comments and questions, but first let’s sing this song together: Let it be a dance.

1st book

2010-02-26T05:46:00.001-08:00

I couldn't wait, and already read my first Sabbatical book. This is a little like eating your movie candy bar during the previews...but on the other hand I have a box full of candy bars for this upcoming film.

On the Sabbatical road I've limited myself to taking the number of books that will fit in a banker's box with the lid on. And no, I was not just trying to ease up the space in there by reading this first one. It was more like opening a bag of potato chips and saying, "I'll just have one. ...or two. ... ...oops."

So, what is this candy-and-potato chips book? It's called Orbiting the Giant Hairball, by Gordon MacKenzie. He's an artist who worked at Hallmark's corporate offices for 30 years, advancing from sketch artist to middle management. Naturally MacKenzie experienced lots of tension between remaining free and creative in a corporate, bottom-line-focused world. The book is fabulously illustrated with doodles on nearly every page, and a few full-color pieces too, so it's a delight to read.

It's probably good that I read this one in advance. I've gone out and purchased a sketch pad and box of colored pencils to help get me out of my left hemisphere comfort zone while on the journey. Thanks, Gordon!

2010-02-19T05:50:00.000-08:00

OK, now I've got some travel books (including a guide to Nova Scotia/New Brunswick) and some maps, and yesterday I got some colored pencils to throw in the mix of what I'm taking along. I'm still thinking that all books to be read and art supplies (excluding yarn, of course) must fit into the lidded banker's box I set out for my early packing.

Actually, it's too early to call it packing. It's still hunting/gathering. But I feel the inexorable march of time, forward along this sabbatical road!

Early Morn

2010-02-06T04:57:00.000-08:00

Up early with (normal) sermonizing angst. This is 1 of 3 left to write before the sabbatical. Even though I like giving sermons, definitely one of my fave ideas about the sabbatical is not having to write them.

Passport arrives

2010-02-03T17:05:00.001-08:00

I like that the "homepage" on a blog is called a dashboard. Makes me think of the many hours I'll be spending looking across the dashboard of my Corolla as I travel the highways and byways.

I got my new U.S. passport in the mail the other day, making the trip to Canada a real possibility. From what I've heard, it's not hard to get INTO Canada without a passport, but if you want to come home again you need one.

I'll admit the idea of becoming Canadian hasn't always seemed like a bad idea. You know what they say: A Canadian is just an unarmed American, with health care. But having an option to come home is a good thing.

Getting Started

2010-01-22T06:11:00.000-08:00

My sabbatical's so close I can just about reach out and touch it. It's not that I feel it breathing down my neck, it's more like I'm breathing down IT'S neck. I am in hot pursuit of all that will make me ready for this journey.