The Language of Faith

We have become a nation that ignores language. This is thanks in part to text messaging, corporate names and logos with intentionally misspelled words, and the unnecessary promoting of science and math over English and liberal arts as if we could not promote the sciences and the liberal arts. The only times we seem to pay attention to language are when it’s time to write a college essay, craft a wedding invitation, or engage in a political correctness battle. Only then do we give our words the thought they deserve. Remember the old saying, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me?” It is true that words will not break our bones, but they can break our hearts. They can break our spirits. Words can hurt us, wound us, and scar us. We remember the playground taunts from elementary school. We remember the words of family or friends that made us feel unworthy or unloved, the words of teachers or colleagues that made us feel stupid or destined for failure, and yes, the words of clergy or church members that made us feel sinful or like a perpetual outsider.

Words also uplift and inspire us. We remember the written and spoken words of encouragement, praise, and comfort from teachers and supervisors, coaches and clergy. We know how good we feel inside when we find the right words to express at the right time for a friend or a complete stranger who is grieving or simply having a bad day. As people of faith, the words of our scripture, hymns, and worship liturgy can bind us together or rip us apart. As Americans, we learn of the first amendment to the U.S. Constitution which gives us the freedom of speech. We are guaranteed the right to speak and write in order to express our opinions, to protest, to worship, and to put words to our feelings and desires. In theory, any person can say almost anything at any time as long as it does not cause a riot. I say in theory because each of us places limits on the words we use with certain people and in certain contexts in order to avoid conflict, reprimands, or hurting others.

Let’s take, for example, the f-word. I have friends who view the use of that word as offensive and some who even view its use as sinful. I have other friends who use it as often and as easily as they would say heck or forget you. As for me, I have no problem using the f-word but it’s not a word that comes to mind on a regular basis. Do I have a right to use the word? Most certainly. Should I use it without concern for the beliefs or feelings of the person who will hear it? Most certainly not. I try to base my use of the word on context and particularity, on how I believe the hearer or reader will feel when I use it. When my perceptions are wrong, I am thankful when the person trusts me enough to share her feelings and the reasons behind those feelings. Even then, I may not completely understand and I may unintentionally use the word again. I am human. I don’t know everything or how everyone will interpret or feel about what I say. All I can do is to try to express myself in ways that fit the time and the audience and most importantly, that cause the least harm and do the most good.

Here’s another example. Having lived in the southern part of the U.S. for several years, I have become comfortable using the word “hon.” “Thank you, hon.” “That’s okay, hon.” I say it to women, men, people younger than I am and people older than I am. It is simply a way to show affection or to soften the impact of certain statements. One day when I was serving as a chaplain, a colleague asked me if I realized how often I used the word. She noted that I had used it in our conversation several times that morning alone. She also cautioned me that there were people in the hospital who got extremely offended by the word. “Really?” I said. Then, she shared a story of someone having called a doctor hon and how the doctor went on a rant because she believed she was being disrespected. Initially, I thought to myself, “This is ridiculous,” especially after I learned that it was a female doctor who said it to another female doctor.” Then over time, as I tried to limit my usage of the word and thought about its use in different contexts, I came to the conclusion that it was okay to call someone hon but that I should be sensitive to the context. Is this someone who I know well or someone who also uses the word? If not, how did they react when I used the word. Body language says a great deal. If the word slips out and I’m not sure of the reaction, I will let the person know I meant no harm or that I use the word indiscriminately, and I will apologize if it was offensive to the person.

If you’re saying right now, “Well, that’s too burdensome. People are too sensitive these days. You can’t say anything without someone getting offended and overreacting. It has gotten to the place where I can’t even tell a joke or sing a song with certain words without someone having a problem with it. Just f it, I’ll say what I want!” And hear me say, that is certainly your right. Hear me also say that until we all are willing to take the time and make the effort to monitor our own language at the same level or greater than we monitor our actions, we will never be the free, uplifting, and harmonious nation we say we want to be and that we can be. This also requires taking the time to listen to other people’s concerns and reasons for reacting the way they do. If we are being asked why the words are offensive or why they’re offensive if person x says them but not if person y does, it means erring on the side of believing that the other party is sincere and wants to learn or engage in a constructive manner, not that they are being sarcastic or mean-spirited or that they are intentionally uninformed.

All that said, I put forth our recent debate over Roseanne’s tweet and the cancellation of her show. My initial reaction was to approve of the show’s cancellation and the more I learned of other comments Roseanne has made, the more I applauded the network’s decision. Then I started reading statements from people who questioned why Roseanne’s show was cancelled when the shows of certain talk show hosts and other comedians was not. “That’s different,” I said to each example given. Then God poked me and asked, “How is it different? Are you just having a knee-jerk reaction or have you actually thought about the examples being given?” So I began to think about it and I continue to do so, not just about Roseanne, but about our use of language on a daily basis.

First, I think about context. Life does not provide clear answers of right and wrong. Maybe that would make life easier but it’s a moot point. Context matters. For example, the comedian Dave Chappelle did a skit years ago in which he brought forth the lunacy of Jim Crow laws. I believe he called it a shit-in instead of a sit-in. He filmed the skit like a documentary with himself as an elderly factory worker recalling a day in the Jim Crow south when he desperately needed to use the bathroom and the “colored” bathroom was on the other end of the factory. He took a chance on using the whites only bathroom only to find himself sitting on the toilet with a shouting police officer and an attacking German shepherd at the bathroom stall door. There were many people who found the skit offensive and chastised Chappelle for what they viewed as making fun of the Civil Rights movement. I believe he said the intensity of hostile feedback was one of the reasons he took a long break from public life. I, however, thought the skit was hysterical as it did point out how ludicrous those laws were. It also could pique the interest of people who were not familiar with that period of our history or of its effects on the daily lives of African-Americans. In my opinion and in this context, the skit was not one that would require chastising Chappelle or taking his show off the air. Even if we personally did not agree with how the skit was presented, this was a comedian and an African-American addressing a political, racial, and moral issue that still effects us as a nation.

Second, there is history, the person’s history, the history of television, and our nation’s history. Unlike Dave Chappelle, Roseanne was not commenting on her ethnic group and she has a history of making racist and otherwise offensive comments against African-Americans, Jewish-Americans, Muslim-Americans, and others. She has done so as Roseanne the celebrity, as Roseanne a human being. Unlike Carroll O’Connor, for example, who played the racist and sexist Archie Bunker and used his celebrity to speak out against such behavior, Roseanne has used her popularity to give racist words a larger platform. We could add to her history the extremist political and social statements she has made on both the extreme right and the extreme left.

Television for decades has joined in affirming sexism, ageism, religious discrimination, homophobia, and racism. People of color were rarely seen and when portrayed were portrayed in demeaning ways. Even as I watch documentaries today on World War II, I am reminded of how people of color have been discounted. As I watch the footage of soldiers in the field, being transported in ships across the Atlantic, or celebrating at the end of the war, I think of my own father and three uncles who served on foreign soil during World War II, who served honorably, and who served in a segregated military. Where is the footage of the soldiers who looked like them? There is some, but it is rare. The small and the large screens that depict our lives and provide our entertainment have a lot of making up to do. So should ABC and other entertainment entities watch Roseanne’s behavior more closely than that of many other entertainers? Yes. Both her history and the history of the entertainment industry warrant it. Should the show have been cancelled? In my opinion, no, even if it continued for a certain time period or indefinitely without Roseanne. Possibly the incident could have been used within the show as a way to educate and to prompt fruitful discussions.

Lastly, the role of our nation’s history. If we live in the United States, we live in a nation infected with racism. Unlike many of my family members and other African-American friends, it has taken me decades to be able to own that fact. I have never wanted to own it because it hurts. It wounds and it wounds in ways that can never be healed. Even with all of my education and all the advantages my family has given me, even though this is the country of my birth, and even though this is a country for which generations of my family have worked, fought, and died, I will never be treated equally, not as an equal to a white female and certainly not to a white male. I am reminded of that fact every time I look for a house or an apartment, every time I apply for a job, and even every time I think of going to a new doctor or a new church. My parents’ generation risked physical, financial, and emotional injury by doing any of those things. My generation has faced less of the physical risk, but the wounding attitudes and words still abound. At times, they have caused me to discount my own worth as a human being, to dislike the physical characteristics that God graciously gave me, and to discount and disparage people of my own race.

Roseanne’s comparison of an African-American female to an ape was more than a political commentary or an inappropriate joke about appearance or a protest against political correctness. For better or worse, her comment came with her history, the entertainment industry’s history, and our nation’s history. For African-Americans, it came with a history of being compared to apes as an insult to our intelligence and our humanity, not only by the entertainment industry but by the so-called science of the day, science that found it perfectly acceptable to experiment on African-Americans without concern and without consent. If as Americans, we are to be one nation under God, each of us must take the time to learn about our history, the good, the bad, and the ugly. We must own that history and deal with it, not once but continuously. For racism is like a cancer. It can be hard to detect. It can be mistaken for other diseases. If we have symptoms of it, we may try to ignore them for we know that treating the disease may drain our bodies, our minds, and our finances. Once cancer is detected and even after it is in remission, it must be monitored for the rest of a person’s earthly life. If it is not, it can return and spread throughout a person’s body before showing any obvious signs. And yes, it can be lethal. The same is true of racism and racist words affirm racist beliefs and behavior.

Each of us, regardless of ethnicity or social prominence, must expend the energy to think before we speak, to listen and seek to understand when another person takes offense at what we say, and to communicate in constructive, not destructive, ways. As Christians, we have committed to viewing every person as a child of God and to loving our neighbor as we love ourselves. When we are tempted to believe that other people are being too sensitive or that words don’t matter, we need to recall a time when someone said something that was hurtful to us. Regardless of whether we called their attention to it, whether they intended to hurt us or not, or whether others would or would not have taken offense, the hurt was real. The wounds are real. May we learn from that hurt and remember the effect words can have. As we hear and read the words of people who have chosen to be in public forums, may we be mindful of context and history and hold them accountable. May each of us seek to fill our daily discourse with words that heal, inspire, educate, and transform for the better. May we do so not because it is politically correct and not because any person or any social standard requires us to do so, but because as human beings traveling on this journey together, we desire to do so.


La Ronda

Our First Meal Together

Invitation: If you have not read the first three posts or at a minimum the post “A Reminding Dream” please do so before reading this one.

What finally moved me from procrastination to publishing blog posts was a crying session Saturday morning. As I stood waiting for my mug of high-test coffee to fill up, I started to cry. If you know me, you know that I am a crier and a proud one at that. I cry silent tears and I wail. I cry when I am overjoyed and when I am in the depths of despair. When those tears flow seemingly without reason, it is often a sign from God. They tell me when a sermon is the right one, regardless of what I have prepared. They tell me when I am avoiding what I call my God-time,  when there is something with which I don’t want to deal and I know I’ve reached a point where I must. They tell me when I am embarrassed because I am not being the person God has created me to be. As I investigated the reason for Saturday mornings tears, I realized that God was calling attention not only to my embarrassment but to heartbreak.

For several days, I have been obsessed with an agonizing combination of national news and anniversary documentaries on the 1960s. Even though I was raised in a household where newspapers were delivered every day and ignorance of current events was met with intense disapproval, I have tried to tune out. Why tune in when I will only get depressed and angry, lose sleep, and not be able to do anything to change the situation? God reminded me on Saturday that I am able to do something as is every individual. What we each are gifted to do on any given day may be different but we all are capable of doing things that will change the situation. We may not know what the impact is of what we do or say but we can be sure that doing and saying nothing is not an option, not if we have hearts, not if we have souls. The tipping point for my heartbreak on Saturday was the treatment of children, children who are being separated from their families by our government, and the failure of so many Christians to even express any outrage. So today I add my one voice to the voices of those Christians who are speaking out.

One of my pet peeves as a pastor has been hearing church going Christians go on and on about how sad it is that there are so few children in worship or Sunday school. One church in which I served even had a room filled with decades old toys and furniture for children, maintained as if the children who had roamed the halls 20 or 30 years ago would some day miraculously reappear. The same people who bemoaned the childless state of the church also were the people who did not see the huge number of children who lived in walking distance of the church. They also showed no concern for the children who came to the church every Sunday afternoon as part of a congregation that rented space in the building.

For example, one Sunday as our congregation had a reception in the fellowship hall, members of the other congregation began to arrive for their service. Their pastor would pick up many of them in a small van, dropping off people a van-load at a time. Since our trustees were adamant that the other congregation did not enter the building before their scheduled time, adults and children were standing outside on a concrete parking lot in the July heat, patiently waiting. Our senior pastor invited them in over intense objection and later was penalized by some of the members of our congregation for having done so. Why do I share this story?

I share it because it is an example of what happens when we start to see some people as less than others. I believe most of the individuals in the congregation genuinely wanted to welcome and nurture children in the building again. The problem was that consciously or unconsciously many of the members had narrowed their definition of children to the images, characteristics, and qualities that made them comfortable. They wanted children, but the children in the neighborhood and the children of the other congregation did not come within that definition. There were differences of dress, mannerisms, language, and ethnicity that led to discomfort and fear. Somehow these little beings were threatening at best and at worst non entities. They were invisible, except when someone needed to be blamed for spilled juice or some other similar capital offense. The senior pastor, who also reached out to the neighborhood children, was first ostracized and then removed as senior pastor, unsupported and unprotected by the local church and denominational powers that be. Children were desperately wanted in the building, in the denomination, in the faith — certain kinds of children that is.

Even though I was supportive of the senior pastor and took minor risks in what I would do or say during my tenure there, I must add myself to the list of people who were not vocal enough. Would I have opened the door if I had been the senior pastor or member of the congregation at the time? Probably not. As much as my heart may have wanted to do so, my mind kept saying no. My own snobbery, my own selfishness, my own fear combined to keep me from acting.

Apply that same combination in my own mind and apply the mindset of those members of the congregation who limited their definition of children to the children crossing our border with Mexico and you may understand what I mean by heartbreak. Regardless of any of our views on immigration policy, national security, or economic policy, there is no justification for separating any child from her family simply because they are trying to enter the United States. Let me repeat that. Regardless of any of our views on immigration policy, national security, or economic policy, there is no justification for what is taking place at our border with Mexico. If there is doubt as to whether what is being reported is true, then our response should not be to simply convince ourselves that it is not true or content ourselves with research from sources that will yield the answer we want.

As people of faith we have a responsibility to speak whether it is to our elected officials, from our pulpits, or in response to our colleagues. We must not allow our policy positions, our political affiliations, our fears, or our definitions of patriotism take precedence over our faith. Being Christian and being American are not the same thing. They never have been. On our best days as a nation, they overlap. Those are the days when we demonstrate our compassion for all people, regardless of their ethnicity, nationality, economic status, or citizenship status. Those are the days when we are courageous enough and compassionate enough to see the humanity in every person and to act accordingly. On our worst days as a nation, being Christian and being American are diametrically opposed. Those are the days when only certain kinds of people are deemed worthy of entering our sanctuaries, our communities, or our nation. Those are the days when only certain kinds of people are deemed worthy of compassion, of value, of being seen and heard. Those are the days when we become so fearful of each other that we can no longer speak or act with civility. Those are the days when our version of Christianity and our calls for religious freedom are not about being free to express our love for each other or being hospitable to and welcoming of each other, but instead about seeking justification for excluding others and for refusing to face our fears of what is different or unknown. Unfortunately, those are the days in which we are living.

If you have not tuned in to any of the recent documentaries on the 1960s, I encourage you to take the time to do so. I also encourage you to do so in a group of people who you trust and who you know have different opinions from your own. It is the 50th anniversary of the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr. and of Robert Kennedy and there are a host of documentaries on each of them, on the civil rights movement, on the Vietnam War and the related protests, and on the presidencies of John F. Kennedy, Lyndon Johnson, and Richard Nixon and the contentious political conventions and processes in which they each were involved. Most importantly, listen to the words and watch the actions of ordinary people, both the footage of the time and their reflections on the time. They are us. We have more sophisticated and subtle ways of ignoring each other, fearing each other, and hating each other. We have more ways to justify being too busy to engage each other, to be aware of what is actually occurring in our country, and to seek ways of learning and sharing. But at the end of the day, they are us.

In these days in which we are living, I pray that we will have the courage to be the people of faith we are called to be. When we dig deep within ourselves, we know when our faith and our fears are being used to divide us. We know when so-called faith leaders are more concerned about their personal fame and fortune than about the people they claim to lead or the God they claim to serve. Yes, as a nation we must address issues of immigration and national security, but I submit to you that as with any issues, we must address them with our hearts and our minds. As Christians, that means putting ourselves in the position of the least of these. It means remembering that there is a way or ways in which each of us is among the least of these. Whenever we are tempted to turn away, to remain silent, or to champion division and exclusion, we must remember the incarnation of God, not in a first-century Roman citizen or in a wealthy merchant or in the politically sponsored clergy of the day but in Jesus of Nazareth, a non-citizen, a poor laborer, a child refugee in Egypt, a person who spoke Aramaic, not the Greek language of the Empire, and a person to whom many religious people closed their doors and their minds because listening to Jesus of Nazareth was too inconvenient, too disruptive of daily life and deeply held beliefs, and too socially, politically, and economically risky. We know in our minds what it means to listen to Jesus of Nazareth. We know in our hearts what it means to be followers of Christ. May we speak and act in the ways the Christ in and of our heart guides.


La Ronda

A Reminding Dream

Warning: If you have no sense of humor or don’t get sarcasm, you’ll be safer and happier reading this in the presence of others. I tend to range from painfully intense to comedic and today I awoke in comedic form. So, here we go.

Last night, I was obsessing about and reviewing and reviewing the NEXT blog post, which is painfully intense. I decided to take a break before final posting and update another website while I watched a documentary on the 1960s. Even though it was saving (or saying it was saving), I did not preview periodically but waited until I had done quite a bit. Then preview kept saying, “Yikes: We hit a snag. Try again or contact customer support.” Then, I decided I would just hit publish because if I lost all of these updates, I would just die or at a minimum have a major cow.

God laughed and said, “No you won’t. You certainly won’t die over something so trivial and remember, you’re practicing patience and not having a cow over something you can’t control any way. It’s either saved or it’s not.” I decided that on this particular occasion, God was right. So, I chilled out and called customer support (chat was not available due to the time of the hour). The person who answered admitted he was not long out of training and since he also had a wacky sense of humor, I continued to relax as we tried to reset without actually resetting. The site I was updating continued to say “Publishing. This may take a few minutes.” It had already been over an hour. It was five in the morning. So I just left it running and went to bed. When I awoke, it was still doing the same thing. I decided to go ahead and share this dream I had with you before checking to see if ANY updates have actually been published before I forget this dream.

Okay. I had a dream last night about Melania. Wait, hear me out. She and I and a few other people are going on this international trip. We’re in a huge airport/convention center that has been in my dreams before but in which I have never been. We’re hours early for the flight and we’ve gone to some hotel suite, apartment-like place that appears to be connected to or in the convention center. Melania and I are laughing it up like old buds and somehow we’re related. In-laws or something, I don’t know. There’s another person there laughing it up also. I’ve concluded this connects to watching the documentary which included college student protests combined with thinking about new friends from my recent return to graduate school. The third person was a composite.

Next scene. We’re walking through one of the rooms and a friend of mine from California is sitting at the dresser mirror. Melania and I walk by and wave and she nods back as if we had just walked through a few minutes ago. In reality, I haven’t seen this friend in years and even though she is what many of us here in the United States would call “hot,” she’s physically quite different from Melania. She also probably is quite different politically and/or religiously from Melania. Even in the dream, I’m trying to put this relationship together, but who knows. They could be friends in real life.

Next scene. I’m walking on an Ivy-covered college campus. Ivy, like England like ivy-covered, with a huge lush quad. This place also has been in my dreams before even though it doesn’t look real-life familiar. I comfortably walk around for a bit and then the scene switches again and I’m back in the hotel suite/apartment. You may not know me well enough to understand what I see next, so I’ll skip that. Discussion for another day. Then, I’m asking the other folks in the room about getting something to eat before our flight. Melania says she just got back from eating but she and I keep chatting with the college student friend while I get dressed. My plan is to get dressed for this long flight before getting something to eat. In my mind, this means really comfortable jeans or loose pants and a sweatshirt. Melania however is thinking linen sheath. I like that too so I say what the heck and put one on. She helps me get my clothes adjusted. I know this part comes from thinking about a choir stole that I was wearing on Sunday with no velcro. I kept feeling like it was all out of whack and it probably was as my clothing tends to be a bit askew even with velcro and even on a good day.

Next scene. I am dressed and I am walking next door to just say hello and go back to the suite. Work with me. When I exit the suite, I am exiting a house and walk to the house next door. Melania and a couple of other people in the house are waving. It’s raining lightly so I put up my the hood on my red jacket. The red jacket I simply connect to rolling out the trash in a light mist last night. Then I go in the house next door. Inside, there’s a huge family getting ready for dinner and I feel as if I’m in another friend’s house, who is a former neighbor and often has informal gatherings with friends, visiting family, etc. Even though she has become very suburban and in many ways cosmopolitan, she grew up in a rural Southern community as did her spouse. These gatherings thus have yielded some hilarious stories, partly due to this mixture of a diverse group of guests.

Remember, I was only dropping by to say hello. Instead, I end up joining them for dinner. We form a big circle and pray and then sit down for dinner in places throughout the house. Next thing I know, I have been for there for hours having a good time and remember I have a plane to catch. A short time of panic as I think I’ve left my phone back in the hotel suite/apartment and no one could contact me if it was time to board. Then I go in a bedroom and see my phone and start packing up. Why am I packing up if I just stopped by. I don’t know but I am. No one has texted or called me so I relax. And, no I did not know what time the plane was to depart. I just didn’t. I get back to the hotel suite/apartment and we all go to get in the boarding line. There’s more to this dream but it is not relevant to the next post. At least, I don’t think it is at the moment and I am determined to publish that post TODAY!  Plus, if you know me, Pastor La Ronda stories often have no ending. This is because, thankfully, I’m still alive and this is my life and the stories continue.

If you’ve made it this far in the post, you may want to ask me, “Should I be on medication?” Yes, I am on medication and you should be too. As one of my military/lawyer friends always says, “Better living through chemistry.” Chemistry and spirituality actually go together quite nicely. We start to get a better sense of when the Great Spirit is speaking to us and when we’re just speaking to ourselves or some combination thereof. Most of this dream was the Great Spirit. This was God reminding me of the overwhelming need to stay joyful, how I’ve found that joy in so many different communities, and of the need to take time to join in helping others to be whole and to be joyful as well. This is God telling me to review the next post one more time, removing any snippy divisive and bitter comments. Those comments are not from God, but from me, a human being like any other with on-going healing to do.


La Ronda

What Shall We Bring?

Being Miss “I need it to be perfect before it hits the page,” I’ve had this site for years and posted only once or twice. This year, I promised myself that I would start posting on a regular basis. One can’t be a writer without writing. There’s certainly plenty in my head about which to write. I love to write as any of you who have ever received a text from me can testify! I also have plenty of opinions, shallow and deep. So what’s the problem?

Deep in my heart, I know what keeps me from publicly stating opinions. It’s a combination of wanting to be perfect, not wanting to be wrong about any fact or issue, wanting to save the world and deciding that if I can’t, I’ll just be depressed and do nothing, a bit of procrastination, and a lot of fear. Fear of what? Fear of not being liked. Fear of rejection.

Recently, I wrote a rare Facebook post and I began by noting my gratitude for having friends and family who range from rabid religious and political conservatives to rabid religious and political liberals. I am grateful for that as it keeps me from demonizing anyone at any given time. On so many divisive issues, I can picture a friendly face with any combination of views. I can picture hands and hear voices that have helped, nurtured, or encouraged me and I desperately want it to stay that way. I like to be liked and I love to be loved.

Yet, I know that I have no control over how other people feel, act, or react. I only have a modicum of control over how I feel, act, or react. So in the midst of universal, national, and personal communities divided by ideologies, mistrust, and fear, I can only set forth opinions if I take the risk of not being liked, of unintentionally hurting someone, or of even receiving nasty, hateful messages. I must take a step out of fear. I must use the gifts God has given me to speak and to write and to do so at the times and with the words I believe God desires. I don’t always hear those words clearly. Like anyone else, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of voices in my head – voices from family, friends, teachers, so-called history books, television, and any other number of sources that compete with the voice in my heart. But I will try to hear God’s words and I pray have the humility to admit when I get it wrong and to apologize when I speak in ways that are hurtful, not helpful.

In the post Dinner Anyone?, I noted that I am a dinner party person not a cocktail party person when it comes to how I prefer to engage in conversation. So to continue the analogy, if this blog is a dinner party, what shall we bring? I hope that we will bring our hearts and our minds and do so at the same time. That may sound easy but it’s actually quite difficult. For the things about which we are the most passionate are often the things we also do not want disturbed and thinking causes disruption. It’s also difficult because the most important things in life require the most intense thought, often with a realization that there is no one answer. We’ve become people who want answers. We want them short and immediate. We want to know that if we spend the effort of exerting thought and passion something is going to come from it, something we can witness and witness now.

Bringing our hearts and our minds to any issue requires acknowledging and accepting the fact that we may never witness the good our efforts bring. As people of faith, we can only try to do what we believe God is calling on us to do and let God take it from there. I believe that God only calls on us to do what will be good for us and for others. I also believe that since we have free will, we can have a negative impact, intentionally or unintentionally, on our own good efforts and those of others. For example, with this blog, I can listen to my heart and write about what arouses my passions. I can listen to my head and try to run those feelings and words through a number of lenses and perspectives. Then, I can bring heart and head together to write and let the words go where they may and inspire who they inspire. I cannot control who ultimately sees or hears those words or how anyone interprets or responds to those words. I cannot control if or when those words will have a positive impact on any person. I certainly cannot explain positions or answer questions when those questions are not asked. I can bring heart and head together to know that I am entitled to have my thoughts and opinions, that those thoughts and opinions are valid, and that everyone else is also so entitled. All that said, let us share our first meal together.


La Ronda

Dinner Anyone?

For those of you, who do not like reading long posts, I can only say that I will try to have an audio version of these. For those who do not like hearing or reading long posts, I can only suggest tuning in as bedtime reading, a morning devotional, or a waiting in line or commercial break activity. Sometimes I say meaningful things in a sentence or two but rarely. You see, I have come to own who I am and I am not a cocktail party person. I am a dinner party person.

What’s the difference? Cocktail party people are people who go to cocktail parties and observe cocktail party etiquette by speaking only briefly to any person and then moving on. They may speak to that person again during the event but still only briefly. Cocktail parties are about meeting and speaking to as many people as possible and not preventing other people from doing the same. One of the judges I worked for many years ago was an expert at cocktail parties. He would circle around two or three times before I made one round. He did so with grace, never appearing to cut anyone off. And at the end of the event, he would have learned new things, shared new things, and connected with new people and old friends.

I, on the other hand, prefer to learn or share more with one or two people at any one time. Thus, I prefer a dinner party to a cocktail party. It’s not about the food; it’s about the depth of conversation. I also have always been a person who people feel comfortable talking to in depth. This has been true as a pastor, a preacher, a chaplain, a graduate student, an airplane passenger, and even back in elementary school. Sometimes I end up talking to a cocktail person who thinks they’re in dinner party mode and I hear the same thing over and over again. I am getting better at gracefully ending those conversations but it’s a slow process. All this to say three things about my blogs:

1) I write the same way as I socialize. For me, engaging in meaningful discussions usually takes time, even on social media;

2) I hope you will find ways to engage. If you have thoughts on how I can help you do that, let me know. Are there easier formats to access, ways to post, give feedback, etc.? Let me know;

3) I promise to engage as well — to read, think about, and pray about the thoughts you choose to share.


La Ronda