Recently, I was on retreat with an amazing group of women friends.  It is an annual event that includes lots of reflection, music, prayer, wine, and chocolate. And a labyrinth.

The labyrinth at our retreat center is outdoors and made from stone, wood, and dirt–a locally sourced labyrinth. Walking it, you hear the crunch of leaves and small stones under your feet. Wind and sun and clouds and temperature all become part of the experience, so each time you make the journey it is a little different. I’ve always walked this one with a group and the labyrinth is big enough so that you can be in community and in your own space at the same time.

Like all labyrinths, this one will teaching you something if you pay attention. Insight, healing, serenity, and grace…if that is what you are seeking you can probably find some of it as you stroll that winding path. For me, a long, slow walk to the center and back quiets the noise in my head from a loud and busy life.

But here is something different: this labyrinth has trees growing all through it. Some help mark the way, others are smack dab in the middle of the path itself. It is impossible to make this journey without encountering and then finding a way around the trees. The first year those trees were a buzzkill; mid-meditation I had to stop, navigate, then re-group. In year two, I was nearly able to ignore the trees as I made my pilgrimage to the center and back again.

This was my third year and it was the charm. I paid attention to the trees as I sidestepped some, ducked others. There are a couple that you literally cannot pass unless you hug them. This is what I learned from the labyrinth: Sometimes you have to embrace your obstacles. So I hugged those trees on the way to the center and hugged them again on the way back.

Here is another thing the labyrinth reminded me: like all spiritual journeys the path of a labyrinth does not end at the center, it sends you back to the world again with whatever you learned along the way. So now that I am back in the swirl of my everyday life, I am hugging all the trees in my path: my argumentative son, my talk-til-she-drops daughter, my broken water heater, and the crazy-busy job I love. My path would not be the same without them.

P.S. If you are really into labyrinths, check out this great mediation written by my friend the Soul Curate here.

Norman Rockwell, 1961

Recently, I have had the great, good fortune of being asked to join a committee on Ecumenical and Interfaith Relations. No, seriously, for me this is great! And I mean that both about being on a committee and about the issue we’ll be working on.

Among other topics that engage us in ecumenism and interfaith work, is the big one about why we do it. Some people in my Christian tribe (not the committee members) think this work waters down their faith or should only be done with the goal of converting others to their faith tradition.  Others worry when they engage in this work that they are being judged for either being too Christian (or a particular kind of Christian) or not Christian enough—and sometimes both at the same time. Does ecumenical and interfaith work distract us from working within our own traditions, or is it something our tradition expects of us?

No matter how much I enjoy it, for me interfaith and interdenominational work is an obligation. It is a work of faith that springs directly from my baptism, the sacrament that made me a Christian. In other words, given the world I live in right now, I cannot be a Christian without also reaching across the divides of faith traditions.

In the vows taken on my behalf when I was a baby, and that I have renewed hundreds of times since, I have agreed to:

• Resist evil, turn to Jesus, and put my whole trust in his grace and love.
• Proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ, seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving my neighbor as myself.
• Strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.

And there you have it, right there in the Baptismal Covenant, my imperative for interfaith dialogue and relationships: I live in a community that includes people from diverse religious and cultural traditions. I am to love all of them, seek Christ in all of them, and respect the dignity of every single one. I cannot honor my faith, my vows to God, while at the same time denying or disrespecting the faith of others, because that is part of who they are.

I am not a full-time interfaith activist. Which means I am living proof that it is possible to live out these vows without making this one aspect of living in community my main or only focus. (Although, I am grateful for those who do make it their life’s work.) I guess you could say that if I can do this, anyone can. And here are some things I have learned about ecumenism and interfaith relations so far, in no particular order:

1. You don’t have to get your ducks in a row first. Truly, you don’t have to nail down your theology of anything to make friends and treat people with respect. If you wait until you are “ready” or “know enough” or address concerns within your own house of worship…well, really, that work is never done and it’ll always be changing. And this is true of anything you do in response to faith. Do you have to do an intensive Bible study before feeding the hungry? Or addressing injustice? Or celebrating the blessings in life? If you wait, you will miss a lot of great opportunities.
2. Other people and their faith traditions can teach you a lot. And I don’t just mean learning about the faith traditions of others—although you will learn a lot about that. You will learn about—and sometimes clarify—your own beliefs as well. For me, as a Christian in a majority Christian culture, there is a lot about my faith tradition I take for granted. When I have conversations about charity or evil or family or career or prayer with people from other faith traditions, it sometimes throws my own beliefs into high relief. That is especially true if you include atheist brothers and sisters in the conversation.
3. Other people and their faith traditions don’t exist for my edification.  I learn so much from my relationships across lines of cultural and religious difference, yet if that is the only reason I pursued them I’d be exploiting people God is calling me to love. Sometimes there is a fine line between inviting someone to teach you and using them for your own purposes—like validating what you already believe. I’d say the key is having an open heart and expecting to change. Actually, that works for just about any relationship you have.
4. Be true to yourself and your beliefs. Part of being in ecumenical and interfaith dialogue means bringing your own faith tradition to the table. Without that, you are really just a fly on the wall. And nobody likes flies. It is possible to be fully yourself, be committed to your own tradition and still be respectful to others. You’d never know that by looking at a lot of the news these days, but it is true. Plus, when you are just an observer in the conversation, you are treating other people as an exhibit. See above, that’s not good.
5.  You don’t have to address global issues – the ones in your own neighborhood are just as important. In fact, maybe even the ones in your own church. I’m talking about interfaith marriages, people leaving one denomination for another, friends of friends who come to your youth group. How can you serve people if  you don’t know about them?
6. If you want to be heard, you also have to listen.
7. It is okay not to get it right all the time, no one does.

I could go on, but seven is a lucky number, so I’ll stop there. What about you? What are your experiences of ecumenical and interfaith relations? Why is it important – or not—to you?

For the sun peaking over the trees
and children rushing to meet the school bus
and Mr. Don who will drive them safely
and a second-grader who forgot her lunchbox;

For my little dog, tagging all he surveys,
and all his friends who come over for a sniff
and the rain lilies that popped up
after a much needed downpour;

For the girl with high-school-senior anxiety
and the retired couple out for their morning walk
and the family who lost their dad last year
and the toddler cawing at the morning birds;

For the hectic start and a calming walk
and reminders of the fullness of life
all around the block
I am grateful, O God. Amen.

If only…

Over the years, as the lottery phenomenon has grown, I have developed a recurring fantasy of what I would do with a sudden influx of money. When I was younger, the fantasy included a new car, huge house, and extravagant gifts for all my friends and family. As I got older, I dreamed of starting a foundation that would end, once and for all, at least one world crisis. Travel was on the top of both lists. All over the world and never in coach class again.

Something happened recently to upend my priorities. Actually it was a series of things that acted like running water eroding my high standards of what constituted living well. In fact, it actually WAS running water.

If I ever win the lottery, or in any other way come into a huge bundle of cash, my only wish is never to smell urine again. Not human, not dog, not cat. No more scent of wet beds in the middle of the night. No more incontinent pets. No more boy children with bad aim who really should try harder. No more, “I forgot to tell you I accidentally got pee on the sofa and now it smells horrible.” No more adorable puppies peeing on my shoe. (That really did happen.)

When you see a picture of me holding up a comically huge check for $130,000,000, don’t come with your hand held out unless that hand is holding air freshener or a Clorox wipe. And for goodness sake, if you win the lottery, please don’t use your winnings to buy my children large drinks late at night, or I will be calling your new full-time housekeeper to clean up the mess.

Abstract painting of a person by Paul Klee

I’ve been thinking about the idea of personhood a lot lately. Last summer, there was some election-year debate about whether corporations are people. This summer, the issue is abortion, where people of good will can’t agree on when personhood–and the rights that go with it–begins.

There are different ways to define a person–theologically, morally, legally–and it is possible to hold multiple views depending on your purpose. For instance, you can hold on theological grounds that a person is a single, natural human being created by God and, at the same time, believe on legal grounds that a social group or corporation is a person that can sue and be sued. Science is even opening the discussion of how much a person can be changed by artificial parts and technology and still be considered a person. If you have an artificial brain with human memories, are you a person?

Regardless of where you start and what decisions you make, the determination of personhood is philosophical, not scientific. Science can tell us if a being is human or alive, but it cannot tell us under what circumstances it is a person. There is a difference between the two. To be overly general, “human” is what you are, the DNA you have, and “person” is what you are capable of, the rights and responsibilities you hold. Attributes like agency, self-awareness, and emotion are considerations when conferring personhood. In the U.S., persons are recognized by law according to their possession of rights and duties.

I believe my children are human persons (even if they don’t believe it about each other)  but they don’t have the same rights I do as a legal person–they cannot vote or have free assembly or engage in a host of other civil activities. On the other hand, they can inherit money and property and have a right to due process if they ever get in big trouble. So, even among persons, there are differences.

And that is just right now, here in the U.S. during the 21st Century. The idea of personhood varies across cultures and history. My own forebears believed that personhood was only granted to white, male, property owners. There are cultures in which moral and legal personhood can be ascribed to animals and other non-human beings.

So all of these thoughts have been swirling through my mind as the women and men in Texas and around the country have been shouting back and forth about the rights of women and the rights of fetuses, about medical procedures and murder, about responsibility and privacy. Is it possible to determine a standard by which a fetus is a legal person? And whatever the answer, how do the rights of a pregnant women–a person–fit with the rights of a fetus she carries? What happens when the rights conflict?

Of course, the law can be guided by not based on theological standards of personhood–not least because our nation includes a vast array of religious traditions with differing points of view. We can be informed by science and ethics, tradition and other areas of law. Does personhood begin when a human ovum is fertilized? or when a being has the ability to feel pain? or the ability to survive outside the womb? or draws its first breath?

It would seem important that whatever standard we use be consistent across the range of personhood rights. Are there different stages of personhood–just as we now withhold the right to vote until adulthood? Should the standards used to determine personhood for a fetus be the same as those for born human beings? If so, do they have access to all the legal rights of a born human being, or just some of them? At what point does a person gain rights to health care and nutrition? (In my state, access to both have recently been significantly cut for pregnant women.) What happens when the rights of two human persons conflict? How should the law arbitrate between them? There are some people who think pregnant women should not be allowed to eat raw fish or raw milk cheese. Japanese and French women think that’s going too far.

Perhaps, since a pregnant woman can be considered by some as two united human persons, they are the ultimate corporate person. What would the law say about that?

My Stand-With-Texas-Women shoes

A week ago today, along with a bazillion other people across Texas and the world, I watched the filibuster heard round the world. I knew I’d be angry about the content of the legislation being blocked (really, how do you protect women’s health by limiting care?) and inspired by Wendy Davis, who spoke for more than 11 hours and gave voice to the  experiences of women across the state. What I didn’t expect was the level of disgust I felt watching sworn members of my state government flagrantly violating rules and procedures. And the level of disrespect they showed their female peers in the Senate was shocking.

Lawmaking is like sausage making. It makes many people (including me) want to turn away. But this time, instead of making me the equivalent of a political vegetarian, the meat grinder in the Texas Senate woke up my inner activist. I headed down to the Capitol yesterday with more than 6,000 other sisters and brothers clad in orange to make our voices heard.

I also didn’t expect that last week’s filibuster and this week’s rally would give me some new heroes. I guess I had become too cynical–politics is seeming less and less like a public service for so many politicians. I never tell a child that s/he can grow up to be president because I am not sure that is a compliment anymore. I felt different watching the filibuster and participating in the rally. The Representatives and Senators who spoke inspired me and woke me from my cynical political slumber. (I realize that anyone who knows me might think that slumber was awfully restless, given as I am to the occasional rant. But talking is not the same as acting.)

There was one last thing I didn’t expect. Among the ralliers and speakers, it was clear that the issues at hand went beyond abortion and women’s health–and also beyond political affiliation. It was clear to those of us there that what used to pass as pro-freedom is really an intrusive set of public policies that limit human flourishing (except for the most wealthy and politically connected). Those who claim the “moral high ground” are willing to lie, cheat, and insult to get their way. Oxymoron, anyone?

I am now in the fray and a little bit awed by the powerful emotions the political process elicits from people who are deeply engaged in divisive issues. When you face political and moral opposition, sometimes things get heated. Sometimes people on both sides start using words and tactics that get everyone angry and off-topic. It doesn’t help children, women, families, and the poor–those we are claiming to help. So I am committing to the following principles as I work for access to quality health care, reproductive choice, and voting rights:

1. Respect. Just because I disagree with someone does not mean I will use derogatory language or name calling about them or their beliefs. Even if they don’t return the favor. Vigorous debate yes; insults, no.
   This is a big one for me, based on a lesson I learned when I worked for the Planned Parenthood League of Massachusetts. I joined them as a volunteer before an anti-abortion activist went on a shooting spree, killing two and wounding five. I returned because they needed help in the aftermath and were too traumatized to bring in anyone they didn’t already know. For the next few years, our Executive Director and some of her colleagues met with representatives from the opposing side for a regular series of conversations. What it turned into was supportive relationships–friendships even–and some guidelines for how to hold your ground without being disrespectful. Their work was successful in bringing down the level of vitriol and violence.
   So, based on what I learned from those brave women, I will respect my opponents. I will call them by the political moniker they prefer–pro-life is that is what they wish. I will listen and have a conversation with anyone who wants to discuss touchy issues. And, because respect includes self-respect, I expect the same in return. When I am called an anti-baby anti-woman murderer, that is disrespectful. I understand clearly that you do not want to talk to me and I will leave you alone. If you describe my beliefs in disrespectful terms, I will correct you.
2. Truth. One thing about health care of which you can be sure, including reproductive health care, is that it involves science. Right? So my viewpoints and my advocacy are going to be based on scientific evidence that is widely accepted. In my opinion, if you cite scientific evidence to support your case, it should be subject to scrutiny–especially peer review. Science is a search for truth, not a tool for political gain.
   Experience is also a way of knowing the truth. I will honor the experience of people whose lives have been and will be affected by my political actions and the proposals at hand. Where science and experience can’t inform us, we are left with opinion. And opinions, can witness to the truth, but they are not truth itself. Opinions can be philosophical, theological, moral, political, social, economic, or a zillion other kinds of opinions, but they are not facts. I have lots of opinions and share lots of opinions (I bet you do too) but it is really so much easier if we can admit that is what they are.
3. Focus. There are plenty of people who can and will and need to delve into the minutia of getting a law passed or blocked. God bless them! Others of us are better at delivering care or getting out messages or raising money or registering voters. There are many ways to get involved, but for me, no matter what my task is,  it is important to stay focused on the people who will pay the highest price as a consequence of public policy actions: the poor, the young, those who have no powerful allies, and women. Sometimes it is easy to get lost in the work, so I will try my hardest to stay focused on the mission.
4. Open heart. I am willing to learn and change and grow. It is the ONLY way to be in conversation with other people. If you show me respect and are willing to have a conversation, I am game! But it has to be mutual. Who knows, maybe we can find some common ground.
5. Faith. I am a Christian who is pro-choice. I have lots of friends who are not Christians, who love their country, and are pro-choice. (I could mention a lot of other faiths here, but I am speaking for myself and how I intend to act with regard to my own faith tradition.) While I believe that there should be no establishment of religion in America (including Texas, y’all), my political motivations and decisions are informed by my faith. Did you catch that? It is possible to honor your faith and your God without dishonoring others. I won’t accept the use of religion to abuse or exclude people in the public square.

I have my orange protest shoes on and am ready to march! or email or sort mail or deliver bottled water. Whatever. My shoes are not exactly like Wendy’s, but then again my job is different from hers. I’ll see you at the altar, at the Capitol, and in the voting booth.