Wild Goose 4: What is my part?

7/16

Sunday worship with the Trinity UCC Church

Wild Goose 4

In a conversation with Frank Schaeffer about how he moved away from the theology of his childhood, Frank responded that the first time he changed a diaper, he knew there was no such thing as intelligent design…

In a last conversation with Brian McLaren, Brian says we need to seize the time. We are organized for the wrong reason. We need to redefine evangelism as an invitation to people to be part of the solution. 

He described a ministry called The People’s Supper (thepeoplessupper.org) that pledged to do 100 dinners in the first 100 days of the Trump administration for conversation. Brian says we don’t need safe space, we need brave space. And we can make a difference…we can raise our children to be brave, courageous and strong. 

……

The choir from Trinity United is back one more time to lead our parade and lead us in worship.  The much anticipated preacher is Sister Simone from nuns on a bus.

Sister Simone

When thinking about Paul’s analogy of the body, Sister Simone sees herself as stomach acid on the body of Christ. She speaks the importance of radical acceptance. And the need not for push back, which only reinforces resistance, but to fight for. 

She asks us where are you?  and what breaks your heart? Certainly in her experience gender and gender based definitions have been heart breaking, even in a changing catholic church. 

She calls us to four virtues:

1. Joy. When are our hearts are broken open, joy is possible. And  joy is most of all a communal virtue.
2. Holy curiosity.  We are called to understand, not judge. 
3. Sacred gossip. Sharing our stories….these two ( 2 and 3) weave our communities together. 
4. Doing your part. All we’re called to do is our part, not all parts. And we can help each other discern what our parts are.

And it is in community where we will find  the energy to keep going.

The service ends with a shared Eucharist. And its time of the Goose to pack up its tents and move on. 

Bob, Kristen  Leigh and Russ

……

Russ’ Goosecast tent was down after his last ‘cast, before last night’s concert. Sad to see it go…..

I go back to my campsite and break down my little space, packed up and ready to go.

From my campsite

I walk through the festival site to go get my car, watching the world that came together for a few days deconstructing itself. Of course the Desanka folks stay until the end, sharing food. I’ll pack up the car. Head south to Asheville. Catch a ballgame. Play some music. Visit some old  seminary friends. Wild Goose 20017 is over. 

……..

These are my personal reflections, vignettes of my experience. Others would have different stories. Even about the same events. We each have our own. I leave filled with excitement and ideas. Amazed (and overwhelmed) at how much others have already done. Anxious about my own capacities. How can I make my website happen? Revive my blog? How do I figure out the book business? What is the reality and possibility of my music? What is my community? My usually buzzing mind is working double time.

I missed the temporary tattoo artist. I want to do my Zuni sun sign again and am not quite ready for permanent ink. I miss the woman who made the purple batik shirt I enjoy so much. And I missed the songwriting contest. I continue to feel there’s something missing in the whole approach to music. We need to move beyond the progressive end of the Dove playlist. There needs to be a way to not just have performance and artist led sing along jam sessions but time and place to share creativity, projects in process with peers. Rev. Vince has other exciting ideas like filling the grounds with busking stations. I want to be a creatively contributing participant, not just a consumer. Maybe with Kristen Leigh, we could get a whole tent together. 

The Goose still needs  to extend beyond their circle of friends and those who are visibly famous. (That is, by the way, understandable, but…) There needs to be an openness to other voices. People who have been working in other gardens who have come to the same questions. (Where are my Presbyterian brothers and sisters? Of course I saw 2 or 3, but…)

I come back with an ever-expanding to do list.  I think that’s how it’s supposed to be….

Not this again!

8/15

Katherine and Ted and Hope are out front waiting when I arrive for our meeting. I ask Hope to watch my bag and laptop so I can grab a quick cup of coffee. Someone is asleep in the south doorway covered by two open umbrellas. Is that Edward? I ask. No, the answer comes back. I didn’t really think so. So you can’t be here during the day, you’re going to have to leave, ok?

 All right, I just need a minute, I’m going, comes the reply. 

When I get back from Dunkin’ Donuts, the man, the umbrellas are gone. What’s left is  a plie of ragged ruined cardboard, scattered papers and fresh, steaming, stinking piles of feces. I want to scream, No! Not this again! I can’t stand it. I try to envision, my back as it is, dragging myself down the steps, the bucket and mop and bleach back up. What it will take. I want to scream.

But I go inside and join the meeting. Marc and Sarah have joined us too and Danielle will arrive later. What follows is three hours of discussing the Dream Fest we want to create, other programmig ideas and the budget it will take to accomplish that. And as always, where the money will come from. My anger and anxiety at how long it is taking to get the community together comes out. But we are moving forward. And a longer creative relationship with Woodshed is looking likely. 

Outside, the problem remains. Tracy has arrived. The organizer from the Saigon Grill Workers, from the Justice Will Be Served campaign. I’ve asked them to join us for our Labor Day weekend service. We haven’t done that since the weekend before 9-11.

I learn that Tracy comes from a traditional Korean Presbyterian family. A tradition that does not ordain women, let aloe lgbtq folk. And that tends not to question authority, in a Confucian as well as conservative Christian culture. It’s hard for her to understand a progressive Christianity that has a social analysis and political praxis. I talk about the Reformed tradition and Calvin. How given our human fallibility we need a way of resolving differences and making decisions. How our sense of collective stewardship leads to engagement in the  world around us. How Presbyterians, from the days of the American Revolution onward have always been disproportionately involved in politics. 

Hope and Danielle are willing to tackle the steps. I explain the routine, starting with the dehumidifier water, then more water mixed with bleach, the mop. Deacon James comes in, breathing hard. It took  me three hours to get up this morning, he says. And he still wants to help. He can sweep, but not the rest. I worry about him.

I take Tracy to Popover’s. She learned classic identity politics at Swarthmore,  feminist, Asian. She spent time in North Korea and with agricutural workers in South Korea. A deepening dissatisfaction with identity politics came to a crisis point in Chinatown where organizers accepted concessions for their people while Latinos were left out. She’s learned Spanish. And loves her work between Chinese and Mexican workers. She remembers her Chrismtas Eve talk with my son, Micah. This campaign for a Sweatshop Free Upper Westside is a great sign of what can be as more and more workers become aware and want to join in and more and more employers know there is a growing movement. Popover’s, of course, has signed the pledge. 

Looking at the growig list of things that need to be done, now, the boiler, the sidewalk grate, the loose bricks, the pipes and drains, plaster and netting in the sanctuary, we’re up to about $100,000 in projects. We always kind of knew that, but still....What if? Backup plan? What could we sell? We’ve learned almost all our sanctuary furnishings are Tiffany. What could we get for the settee? Our silver? Depressing. 

All afternoon, Woodshed keeps rehearsing their final scene. The music keeps rising to crescendo, Trelkowski’s voice keeps crying out and he continues to throw himself off of the balcony all afternoon. A sudden flash of light, his arms spread out. Then darkness.