Making Meanings

Rev. Katie Lee Crane's Monthly Column

Perspective
Wed 3 Feb 2010 12:07pm

Perspective. I'm trying to be mindful of perspective. I am concerned about the financial challenges that First Parish faces; I know you are too. But dozens of times in the past few weeks, the stories and images from Haiti offer perspective. Our challenges are nothing compared to theirs. I worry about the rising costs of home ownership, and then think of the rising numbers of foreclosures and homeless families. Apples and oranges. Pausing for perspective helps me convert my "worry" energy into "work for change" energy. I challenge myself to redirect my energy toward advocating for safe, affordable housing in my own backyard.

I hear about the challenges to our schools as budgets tighten and resources dwindle and I think of the countless children and educators who cannot even imagine how good it would be to teach and learn in our "resource-challenged" schools - they live in Chicopee, Roxbury, and Mattapan. And then I imagine a conversation with a mother in Afghanistan - herself denied an education and, still, none available for her daughters.

My list of worries that need to be converted into energy better spent is a very long list.

Not all of us have the luxury to take a break from our daily routine to reorient ourselves to what's truly important. That's one of my top priorities while on sabbatical leave from February 8 to March 8. I want to regain a hopeful, helpful perspective. One thing that helps ground me each day is the morning and evening ritual I share with my husband. It starts with readings from a Celtic Psalter, celebrating and praising all creation. Then, for this past year anyway, we've been reading one selection a day from a book called Women in Praise of the Sacred: 43 Centuries of Spiritual Poetry by Women edited by Jane Hirshfield. The first entry was written by Enheduanna, born sometime around 2300 B.C.E, the daughter of Sumerian king (in the area that is now southern Iraq). The final one is by a contemporary Korean Buddhist nun. I re-read both as I write this and discover that each points to the need for perspective. The first suggests that we cannot focus only on beauty and harmony; we must also acknowledge the power of anger and destruction. True spirituality, her poems suggest, includes all of it.

While on sabbatical leave, I will enjoy the San Francisco Bay area, staying mostly at the home of a dear friend and colleague, the UU minister serving the Oakland congregation. I hope to gain perspective on our New England-style of Unitarian Universalism by exploring a few UU congregations in the US west. I hope to gain perspective, too, with my camera. It forces me to look more closely. To focus. To discover things in unexpected places. And finally, I am taking these words with me so that I might experience what they mean, so that what I see will rekindle the fire in my belly, so that that fire will fuel my energy to work for justice, to work for equity, to work for compassion. So that I'll stop wasting time worrying and get to work! Here are the words I'm packing for the trip:

I have two enemies in all the world,
Twins, inseparably fused:
The hunger of the hungry and the fullness of the full.

Katie Lee

more here . . .

****
Wed 20 Jan 2010 1:32pm

Simple gifts. To me, these are gifts that cost little – of me or of the environment
– but are immeasurably filled with love and human connections. One such gift
was the doll. Years ago, when I still lived on the Vermont Farm, my soon-to-be
sister-in-law found a china doll’s head among some rubble by the brook. We
cleaned it up and her little face was so beautiful. We imagined a little girl who
had perhaps lived on that farm decades before who had loved that doll until all
that was left was her bald head. “I’m going to re-create this doll and give it to
your first-born child,” I joked. The doll’s head lay in a drawer, waiting.

When the first baby was announced, I got to work. I researched the origins of
the head – not a valuable antique, but a popular style of an earlier era. I found a
source where one could buy the cloth body, china hands and feet, and curly
brown hair. I called the former owners of the farm – two maiden ladies,
professional nurse educators, long retired, who had come up to the farm every
summer starting in the late 1930s to get away from the heat of New York City.
Did they know anything about the doll? “No,” they acknowledged, but they did
know that the place we found it had been a dumping area for the owners before
them (and likely many before that). The farm buildings dated back to the 1830s.

I took the doll – now embodied – to show “The Ladies” as we lovingly called
them. They were fascinated and, like me, so emotionally attached to the farm
that we spent an afternoon spinning out stories about the doll and children who
may have played with it. That’s when The Ladies pulled out an old a trunk filled
with, among other things, antique doll cloths, inherited and lovingly preserved.
Together we began outfitting the doll. Soon she had a civil war-era silk dress
that a distant relative had made by hand.

Next, my friend who is a costume designer helped me design and make the
doll’s period-perfect under clothes. And finally, I wrote the letter that I hope will
travel with the doll wherever she goes; it chronicled how a-not-yet-mother found
its head and how my friends and I “brought her back to life” for a just-born little
girl. It told the story of the people who had loved the doll back into being – and,
in the process, loved each other. My financial investment was minimal; the story
was (and still is) priceless.

Join us on Saturday, December 12 for our “Simple Gifts” Village Worship (an
interactive worship service for people from teeny tiny to great and grand). Then
come to the Simple Gifts Swap. I don’t guarantee you’ll find a valuable treasure,
but I can assure you you’ll have the invaluable experience of giving and sharing
love and connections. Believe me, you’ll feel “you’ve come down right.”

Katie Lee

more here . . .

MAKING MEANINGS
Wed 6 Jan 2010 12:00am

I wonder what it was like. I know it happened in 1640. Was it winter? Were they
inside someone’s home? I’m confident that the minister they’d called, the Rev. Mr.
Edmund Brown, was there and probably Peter Noyes – but who else? Was the
whole assembly of recent immigrants there?

Wherever “there” was, I know why they were there. They were Calvinist Christians.
They had immigrated for many reasons, among them the promise that, here, they
might worship freely as they chose. They gathered to formalize their covenant as
this worshipping community: First Parish of Sudbury.

I wonder what they would think about our ministry? Would they be surprised that
worshipping communities in Wayland, Sudbury, and Framingham are their direct
descendants? Some might be shocked to learn that we contemporary Unitarian
Universalists do not necessarily profess to be Christian. We hold multiple theologies
and philosophies and yet we still gather together in a covenanted community; our
covenant is a list of principles and values we share. I like to think though, that they
would see that, however different we may seem, at the core there is still the
commitment among us that we may worship freely as we choose.

I’d love to talk to Linus Shaw about what it was like to minister to this congregation
during the Civil War. I imagine a conversation where I tell him that we have an
African American president and that I feel we’re still fighting that war. We’re also in
the midst of a new, undeclared and (un)civil war of ideologies that challenge every
principle of our democratic process.

I’d like to assure Ida Hultin that, though it took 82 years, she laid the foundation for
more ordained women to be called to serve this congregation: the Rev. Dr. Deborah
Pope-Lance, the Rev. Dr. Doris Hunter, and me. I’d also like to speak to Sarah Pratt
and some of the other women who formed an Alliance when financial challenges
threatened the very existence of First Parish of Sudbury; they put their heads
together, tied their apron strings, picked up their needles and thread and sewed and
baked to keep the doors open and call a new minister.

I’d like to sit down with those ladies and countless others over 370 years who were
stewards of this congregation’s ministry we hold so dear. I’d like to tell them about
today’s ministry… and today’s financial challenges. I want to tell them that, like
them, we are bold enough to “think outside the box” to keep our ministry vibrant; we
are prudent enough to strive to be fiscally responsible; and that, we are committed to
handing off a healthy, engaged, contemporary ministry to the generations who follow
us. I’d have to admit, though, we’re worried. The financial challenges are serious.

I think they’d sit us down and say: Be bold. Be creative. Be prudent yes, but not
fearful. Our ministry and this beloved community — gathered for the purpose of
worshipping freely and serving others — is far too precious to be staggered or
stopped. Get together. Get busy. You can do it!

Katie Lee
more here . . .

Making Meanings
Wed 2 Dec 2009 12:00am

Simple gifts. To me, these are gifts that cost little – of me or of the environment – but are immeasurably filled with love and human connections. One such gift was the doll. Years ago, when I still lived on the Vermont Farm, my soon-to-be sister-in-law found a china doll’s head among some rubble by the brook. We cleaned it up and her little face was so beautiful. We imagined a little girl who had perhaps lived on that farm decades before who had loved that doll until all that was left was her bald head. “I’m going to re-create this doll and give it to your first-born child,” I joked. The doll’s head lay in a drawer, waiting.

When the first baby was announced, I got to work. I researched the origins of the head – not a valuable antique, but a popular style of an earlier era. I found a source where one could buy the cloth body, china hands and feet, and curly brown hair. I called the former owners of the farm – two maiden ladies, professional nurse educators, long retired, who had come up to the farm every summer starting in the late 1930s to get away from the heat of New York City. Did they know anything about the doll? “No,” they acknowledged, but they did know that the place we found it had been a dumping area for the owners before them (and likely many before that). The farm buildings dated back to the 1830s.

I took the doll – now embodied – to show “The Ladies” as we lovingly called them. They were fascinated and, like me, so emotionally attached to the farm that we spent an afternoon spinning out stories about the doll and children who may have played with it. That’s when The Ladies pulled out an old a trunk filled with, among other things, antique doll cloths, inherited and lovingly preserved. Together we began outfitting the doll. Soon she had a civil war-era silk dress that a distant relative had made by hand.

Next, my friend who is a costume designer helped me design and make the doll’s period-perfect under clothes. And finally, I wrote the letter that I hope will travel with the doll wherever she goes; it chronicled how a-not-yet-mother found its head and how my friends and I “brought her back to life” for a just-born little girl. It told the story of the people who had loved the doll back into being – and, in the process, loved each other. My financial investment was minimal; the story was (and still is) priceless.

Join us on Saturday, December 12 for our “Simple Gifts” Village Worship (an interactive worship service for people from teeny tiny to great and grand). Then come to the Simple Gifts Swap. I don’t guarantee you’ll find a valuable treasure, but I can assure you you’ll have the invaluable experience of giving and sharing love and connections. Believe me, you’ll feel “you’ve come down right.”

Katie Lee
more here . . .

Making Meanings
Wed 4 Nov 2009 12:00am

I used to live in a Vermont town where we called the local weekly paper the “Valley Snooze” (Its publishers called it the “Valley News.”) It was a town – far smaller than Sudbury – where if you really wanted the news there was one of two places to get it: Dan & Whit’s parking lot, or the local dump on Saturday mornings.

The news mostly was a snooze, except when it wasn’t. Like this week in Sudbury, when the local weekly, “The Sudbury Town Crier” featured stories about two former local high school students: John Odgren, 19, incarcerated and awaiting trial on the charge of murdering a fellow student, and a 27-year-old Sudbury man arrested at dawn by the FBI and charged with “conspiracy to provide material support to terrorists.” (Thankfully, the familiar faces of two First Parish youth provided a much-needed antidote; they were also featured tolling the Meetinghouse bell as part of the 350.org rally in support of an international Day of Climate Change.)

In one report about the latest arrest, a local business man is quoted as “shocked” that a kid from around here would want to support terrorists. This community, he said, “is the apex of understanding and tolerance.” Really? I’m more in the camp of the paper’s managing editor who wrote: “With all due respect to the folks in Sudbury and other well- to-do communities…, when are you going to wake up?” If we think “stuff like that” happens elsewhere, what planet are we living on? “Stuff like that happens everywhere. Even here.

As a Unitarian Universalist who affirms the inherent worth and dignity of every person, and avows justice, equity and compassion in human relations, and upholds the use of the democratic process, and champions the goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all, these incidents – like so many others – challenge me to examine my values and assess my responses and also my responsibility.

A few years ago, when asked to speak at a memorial service for James Alenson at L-S, I began predictably enough: “We are here to remember James… and what his death means to his family and friends … and to each of us. We are here to remember what happened here… and that it happened here.” But later, I also chose to acknowledge John Odgren and his family: “We are also here to acknowledge that James’ death is not the only tragedy in this story. We must accept that this is tragedy, too, for “Jack” Odgren and for his family.” The latter was not very popular with some listeners, but I could say no other and be true to my religious and personal values.

Now I am frankly wrestling with my response – and my responsibility – to the Mehanna family, to the local Islamic Center, and the Muslims who live in our neighborhoods. I know nothing about the veracity of the charges, but my heart tells me that a lot of local Muslim families will suffer because of this breaking news.

Are you asking yourself some of the same questions? I’m eager to host any conversation about how we live our UU values in the face of the daily news that challenges us. Want to join me in that conversation? Let me know.
Katie Lee
more here . . .

Making Meanings
Wed 7 Oct 2009 12:00am
When I was listening to Prairie Home Companion the other night, Garrison Keillor told one of his Unitarian jokes. I don’t laugh out loud. They are funny – and often right on the money – if you’re an insider, but they offer up a stereotype of our religion that, to anyone but an insider, is quite misleading. Every time he tells one, we have a lively conversation at our dinner table.

“What about the Lutherans,” Jonas asks, “he does the same to them.” Well, some Lutherans may feel about Keillor’s Lutheran jokes as I do about the Unitarian ones. What bothers me is the shadow side of insider jokes – they leave others out. Like my next door neighbor who is curious about Unitarian Universalism, though he is a practicing Catholic. And my Jewish friend who wants to know why it makes my heart sing. Or my cousin who wants to know where she can find a nearby UU congregation.

Think about it. If all they know about my religion are the jokes that have us sitting in a circle in heaven, drinking coffee, and arguing about where we are – what does that tell the world about who we are? I want them to know why I came… and why I stay.

Which brings me to my point: tell the world who we are! I am not trying to evangelize my neighbor or pressure my cousin; I just want them to know why I love being a Unitarian Universalist. I want them to know that it isn’t easy, but I find it exhilarating and challenging to forge my own spiritual path. That’s when a friend will note, “sure, but I can do that walking the beach.” She’s right. But I like doing my spiritual exploring in the company of others. Nobody told me I HAD to be a Unitarian Universalist; I chose to be one. I joined voluntarily and, like other kinds of intentional communities, when I joined, I agreed to affirm certain principals and I commit to a way of being in community together. I like that about Unitarian Universalism. I like it a lot!

Imagine telling your favorite things to someone who asks, or to someone who is curious. (Remember: if you’re just telling them about something that matters to you, they won’t perceive you as pushy; they’ll feel your energy.) Invite them to join you for worship. Reach out to some folks who’ve lost loved one and invite them to our service of healing and comfort on November 1st. Bring the families in your play group to a Village Worship or a gaggle of children to TempoTime.

Tell about some of your peak experiences. Tell them how we help our children grow into this faith of ours, how we see ourselves as explorers. There are guides everywhere – some have titles, some sit next to us in the pews. Even our littlest explorers begin to learn from stories rooted in many of the worlds’ religions. From a very young age, we help children find their place in our community. We encourage them to make meanings for themselves – and, believe me, we have some very young theologians around here! And the rest of us are no slouches either. Give it try. Tell people what it means to you to be part of this UU congregation. They’ll be honored. And they’ll have more than just Unitarian jokes to understand who we are and what we care about.

Katie Lee

more here . . .

Making Meanings –
Thu 3 Sep 2009 10:22pm
Last year I read the books. Michael Pollan’s In Defense of Food, Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and the Lappés’ Hope’s Edge: The Next Diet for a Small Planet. I even tried a recipe or two and, for this “I hate to cook” cook, they turned out all right.

This year I walked the talk. I decided to take a CSA share (Community Supported Agriculture). I’d actually taken one a few years ago, but I always had to throw away veggies we didn’t eat. It felt like a waste of money. So it felt a little financially foolish to try again. Until my epiphany: it’s not just about our household’s vegetable budget; it’s about our family investing in local agriculture. Not only does my family get local veggies, but we support the team that grows them – the family that lives not so very far away. Not only can we feed ourselves, but we can share what we get with our grown kids and our friends.

You need to know that I’m one of those people who used to say “lips that touch beets never touch mine!” And that went for beet greens, swiss chard, kale (isn’t that an ornamental thingy), turnips, parsnips and much, much more. Then came the next revelation – these things can taste really good (OK, I’m not sure about the turnips and parsnips yet).

So next I challenged myself to find ways to use every vegetable we received, even the ones I was sure I did not like! Imagine me picking up my small (they call it small, anyway) box of veggies and coming home each week to find it overflowing with beets and their greens, swiss chard (with various colors of stems), and kale (really, a LOT of kale). Oh, and did I mention that was mostly what we got for those first, many cold and rainy weeks of summer!

Well I went to my cookbooks. (First, I had to dust them, they hadn’t been touched in years). Each week I’d make a list for each vegetable. Moosewood’s cold buttermilk borscht. Vegetarian Epicure’s Chłodnik. Scarlet Salad (beets and red cabbage) from a little book called Learning to Eat Locally and, the pièce de resistance: roasted beets with potatoes, chevre, and arugula. Yum, that one was the hit of the summer!

Now I have the beginnings of my own cookbook filled with recipes we’ve tried and liked. Everything from Arugula to Zucchini. Who would have thought that we’d have tried eight kale recipes, or braised fennel, or Swiss Chard Pie? Who would have dreamed I have yet NOT to like a single one of them! Who would have believed that there were rarely veggies to give away?

Eating locally and eating well has become my spiritual discipline for the summer. Everything about it “feeds” my spirit as well as my body. Monday I pick up the veggies and then, with the reverence I’d usually reserve for meditation or prayer, I’d sort and wash and store each vegetable. Then I’d plan the week’s menus. Each day, something different, something delicious.

In the process I rediscovered cooking and the joy of eating truly fresh food. It’s a good mental and, sometimes, even physical workout. The food is delicious and I haven’t felt this good in years.

Not only was I proud of the meal on the table, I was proud of making a commitment to live more consistently with my values. And, along with paying attention to what matters, I’ve discovered that my summer “spiritual practice” has also raised some provocative questions: Am I using more resources – water, electricity? What will I do when the fresh veggies and fruit stop coming? Can I keep up this practice when I have evening meetings four nights a week?

So there you have it. That’s what I did on my summer vacation. I had a conversion experience and now I’m an evangelist. How about you?

Can’t wait to see you soon. Until then, eat well, eat locally!

Katie Lee

more here . . .

I'll put you on my prayer wheel
Wed 18 Feb 2009 12:27pm
While I was a divinity student, I spent a year as a student chaplain at a rehabilitation center. Those of us on the chaplaincy team had as our "congregation", every patient, every patient's family and friends and every staff person.

Most patients cycled to rehab after a routine surgery (such as total knee replacement) or a life-altering surgery (such as the amputation of a limb) or perhaps after a traumatic illness or injury. Some came for help in dealing with chronic, debilitating pain. Their stories were often dramatic and painful to hear. But, remarkably, this was not a scary or sad place. It was filled with hope and optimism and a shared spirit that cannot really be explained. It was a joy to work with these people. I always felt as though I got as much as I gave. Day in and day out, the chaplain's job was to wander from room to room and just talk. Talk about whatever the people in that room needed to talk about. Motorcycles. God. Medicines. Kids. Their kitchen curtains. Their family of origin. Every day someone new. Every room, something different.

The center's Chaplain, my mentor and colleague, was and is a remarkable minister. She listens more deeply than anyone I know. She is able, day after day, year after year, to hear peoples' stories as if theirs was the most important story she had ever heard, as if they were the most important person she had ever seen. Very often, after a conversation, someone would say to her. "Please pray for me." Of course that someone may have been Catholic or Jewish or an evangelical or Pentecostal Christian. She may have been a Muslim or, he, a Unitarian Universalist. Naturally, they all "prayed" in different languages. Some would say they did not pray at all and certainly not ask for another's prayers. The Chaplain would always say: "I'll put you on my prayer wheel."

Of all the things I learned that year — and there were many — nothing has served me as well as that one line: "I'll put you on my prayer wheel." Thanks to her example, this is how I hold the needs and hopes and dreams and despairs of so many in my heart. And this is how I honor someone's request for attention. A prayer wheel is a device used in Tibetan Buddhism. It is a cylinder containing a scroll of mantras (sacred texts). The wheel is rotated; the act of rotation is thought to increase the power or effectiveness of the prayer, and, perhaps, to send those prayers out into the larger world.

Until recently, I had been borrowing a real Tibetan prayer wheel, a gift to the Steel family from one of the foreign students who had become like extended family. But this year, for Christmas, I received my very own prayer wheel — made by hand by the Dalit women (untouchables) of Nepal.

But my real prayer wheel is a kind of nest in my heart. There, I store the names of people and hopes and needs. There, I commit their prayers — and mine — (regardless of the language that they or I might use) to that place in my heart. I do this, knowing that, in the very act of going about my day, of living, of my beating heart, I am on some level of consciousness, committing my spiritual energy to all that is stored there. More than that, I imagine that the very act of breathing in and breathing out is a process of breathing in the needs and breathing out spiritual sustenance and nourishment. I am sending the needs spinning out into the cosmos. I do this every day for all of you.

Now, as I take leave for two total knee replacement surgeries, it is my turn to ask you: "Please put me on the prayer wheel."

~ Katie Lee

more here . . .

The Real Value of Simple Gifts
Mon 12 Jan 2009 11:21pm
As I write, I have the details of seven services coming in the next 13 days swirling around in my head. Festive ones, a deep, meditative one, one to honor a life well-lived and today’s Village Worship to consider the real value of simple gifts.

I love our Simple Gift Swap which follows the Village Worship service. By now, it has become an annual tradition here at First Parish thanks to Geneviève Dionne whose gift was the idea itself. I love its messages: things don’t have to be big or expensive to be special; beautiful, useful, fanciful gifts, used again, are gifts to the people we love and to our earth, too. I love watching the children “shop” and the shenanigans that go on to suggest that you might like to receive a particular gift! (You see, it’s all free, but there is one rule: you must choose something to give to someone else, not for yourself.) It is such fun to watch folks leave with their (recycled) shopping bags, filled with new and nearly new gifts festively wrapped in (recycled) paper and (recycled) ribbon. It is a blessing to know that all that fun didn’t cost anyone a dime.

I am reminded of a story I heard on the radio years ago. It was told by Carmen Deedy, a professional storyteller who had gone to a very small town in the hills of Kentucky in early December to share the gift of story. She went to the schools and met with the children. She told stories and got them telling stories. Here’s how I remember it.

After nearly a week, she had become quite fond of the children and they of her: one young boy in particular. He was very poor. All the children were. But he had such a bright spirit. When she told her stories, he lit up. And when he told his, she lit up.

The day before she was to leave this little Kentucky town, the boy – we’ll call him Joey – came to Carmen Deedy holding something behind his back. “Carmen Deedy, Carmen Deedy,” he said excitedly. [She pointed out that all the children called her Carmen Deedy, not Carmen or Miss Deedy, but Carmen Deedy.] “Carmen Deedy,” he said again, almost hopping with excitement, “I brought you a gift.

Carmen Deedy looked at the child. He had no shoes (and it was cold). He was scruffy and scrawny and looked as if he needed both a hot meal and a hot bath. His clothes were neat, but patched and worn. If it hadn’t been for those exceptionally bright eyes, Joey looked like almost all the other children she’d met.

She knelt to receive his gift. He shoved a smooth stone – about the size of her palm – into her hand. “Why Joey,” Carmen Deedy said sincerely, “this is beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I know,” he said, “I walked all the way to the boulders to get it for you.”

“Oh Joey,” she said, knowing the walk was dangerous and at least a mile and a half one-way, “you didn’t have to do that! You didn’t have to walk all that way. A simple ‘Merry Christmas’ would do!”

“But Carmen Deedy,” he shot back, “Don’t you know? The walk was part of the gift!”

As you plan your season with its swirling demands punctuated by meditative and festive, consider what simple gifts you may have to offer: to yourself, to the precious ones on your personal list, and – maybe most important of all – to the ones in the world who need to give and receive a gift more than anything.

And while you’re considering what those gifts may be – please remember to make the walk part of the gift.

Katie Lee

more here . . .

Encounter Point
Fri 21 Nov 2008 11:03pm
On Saturday night, a small group of us from three different faith traditions –watched a documentary film called “Encounter Point.” It featured Jews, Muslims, and Christians who live in Israel. All have lost loved one(s) in the conflict. Some have also been wounded, tortured, and or are imprisoned themselves. They are working together for peace and reconciliation through nonviolent means.

Imagine a Jewish mother who son was killed by a Palestinian sniper becoming friends with a Palestinian man (about the same age as her son) whose brother was killed by Israeli soldier. Imagine them working together for peace.

Unimaginable? No. But not easy. They dared to meet one another. That’s how it started.

Encounter point. That’s what I had last month when I had the privilege of meeting 20 Israeli students and two of their teachers from Haifa. They were guests of Congregation Beth El in Sudbury and they came to First Parish one afternoon to learn something about Unitarian Universalism.

Most of these students are not observant Jews, we were told, so it was eye-opening for them to meet American Jewish students and their families who are. The Israelis had not heard of our Unitarian Universalist faith. In the brief time we had together we tried to give them a flavor of our intentional and voluntary religious community dedicated, as we sometimes say, to “deeds, not creeds.”

“What kinds of deeds,” they asked. We told them about collecting backpacks and Halloween costumes for kids living in shelters, and initiatives such as the Green Sanctuary and the local Habitat for Humanity project. We explained that some of our deeds provided direct service while other times we advocate for change through public witness in the halls of the State House or Washington, DC.

Then, almost as an afterthought, I mentioned that I was about to visit a 33-year-old man who is sentenced to life at a maximum security prison.

“Why would you do that?”

We are tutoring this young man, helping him work toward a college education.

“What good is that?”

I explained that my motivation comes from the belief in the inherent worth and dignity of every person. Yes, this man has had to forfeit his freedom and take the consequences for his action, but he is still a human being worthy of our compassion.

I told them what the man has said of his experience in the “College behind Bars” program: “I may not be free in prison, but this is helping me to feel free in my heart.”

Most of the students just couldn’t get it.

Encounter point. I have not stopped learning from those students (and also from my visit with the man in prison). I consider our vastly different contexts. One of the Israeli teachers called my perspective naïve and said, “You don’t understand what it’s like for us; you could be killed any day.”

She’s right. I don’t understand. I also don’t even begin to understand what a man who grew up not more than 20 miles from here experienced in his young life – how different is was from mine – and what of that experience may have led to a violent act that he is paying for with his freedom.

But I understand this. I had a chance to meet these people. I had a chance (albeit briefly) to hear their stories and to tell mine. I had encounters that I will never forget, encounters that cause me to think about my privilege, my freedom, my values and, yes, my very protected experience – something I did not earn – something that is so rare in a complex world I cannot imagine it otherwise. Until I dare to meet someone and she or he dares to meet me.

Katie Lee
more here . . .

Radical Hospitality
Mon 6 Oct 2008 8:23pm

First Parish of Sudbury Newsletter, Making Meanings Column, September, 2008

"Radical Hospitality"

When we applied for a Woburn Grant (which we received) to fund the position of Community Life Coordinator, we stated:

We feel called and committed to radical hospitality in our congregation. For us, it is both a spiritual and ethical imperative that gets to the core of what it means to be human and living in community.

Some of you have asked: “What IS radical hospitality?” Isn’t hospitality simply being nice to one another? Why do we have to suggest that it’s radical – that sounds so extreme. It’s not extreme, but it is courageous. It’s not always easy to reach out to someone and ask: “May I know you better?”

It’s also not a new idea. The concept of hospitality as a spiritual imperative grows from just about every great religious tradition.

Wisdom stories throughout the ages teach us the importance of welcoming the outsider, the pilgrim… to see the holy in the stranger.

In a little book called Radical Hospitality , the authors point out “we are all guests, all travelers, all a little lost, and all looking for a place to rest a while.” They say this kind of hospitality is about connecting with people – the ones at our gate and those a world away.

So it’s about reaching out. About listening. About stretching (sometimes) outside our comfort zone when we encounter those whom we perceive to be different from ourselves. It’s about opening up to the possibility that we may find more similarity

than difference or, even, that we may find genuine difference to be engaging and life-enhancing.

This kind of hospitality is about listening, a special kind of deep attentiveness to all that live – a sharpening of the ears of the heart.

When we listen in this way, listen as a spiritual practice, we hear how people really feel, find out who they really are. “When we listen like this,” say the book’s authors, “the sound of another’s suffering changes everything.” Sometimes, they acknowledge, it unsettles us; often it makes us take a stand for justice.

I would argue this is a call and a commitment in our congregation. We live it out when we stand for economic justice, for freedom of religion and speech, for sharing the common wealth for the common good.

The rainbow flag represents this kind of hospitality. So does the elevator and the assistive listening devices. And, yes, the Green Sanctuary initiative is a kind of radical hospitality to our earth and all living things. And the work that some of you do in prisons, at shelters, and food pantries and …. You know it is a very long list.

We may start out thinking we can help someone or something, but inevitably we grow from the experience as much as anyone whom we’ve “helped.“

Listen. It will break your heart, but it will also give you heart. And, it will give you more – it will give you life.

Friends, let us heed the call and make the commitment to be a people who practice mutual reverence as a way of being human.

~ Katie Lee

more here . . .

Being Crocus-minded
Tue 1 Apr 2008 11:48am

First Parish of Sudbury Newsletter, Making Meanings Column, April, 2008

This column is a re-run. It first appeared in the newsletter in the spring of 2002. Katie Lee chose it soon after she completed the sermon requested by last year’s auction bidders which asked: “What does it mean to push beyond our comfort zone to achieve a greater good?” Maybe, she thinks now, it takes being “crocus-minded!”

It takes courage to be crocus-minded.
…I’d rather wait until June.
Like wild roses,
When the hazards of winter are
Safely behind and I’m expected,
And everything’s ready for
Roses.

But crocuses?
Highly irregular.
Knifing up through hard-frozen
Ground and snow,
Sticking their necks out
Because they believe in Spring
And have something personal
And emphatic
To say about it.

…I am not by nature crocus-minded.
Even when I have studied the
Situation here, and know there
Are wrongs that need righting,
Affirmations that need stating,
And know also that my speaking-
out may offend,
For it rocks the boat –
Well, I’d rather wait until
June.

Maybe later things will work
Themselves out,
And we won’t have to make an
Issue of it.

…Forgive (me).
Wrongs won’t work themselves
Out.
Injustices and inequities and
Hurt don’t just dissolve.
Somebody has to stick (their) neck out,
Somebody who
Cares enough to think through
And work through,

Hard ground,
Because (they) believe
And (they have) something personal
And emphatic
To say about it.

Me…: Crocus-minded?

I’ll look forward to seeing you when I return from London.

Katie Lee
more here . . .

An archive of older columns

Revision 11. Last edited Thu 10 Sep 2009 3:12am by TomYelton