Friday, February 29, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
Actually, I prefer the Bavarian Creme....
And I drink my Dunkin Donuts coffee black, or with cream only.
I can actually still remember the first time I ordered coffee and a doughnut at the Dunkin Donuts store on Boylston Street, just down the block from the Massachusetts Historical Society.
"Regular?" the clerk asked, and when I said yes (assuming, being from Seattle, regular coffee meant black coffee) and got it back with cream and two sugars....
Just another small moment of culture shock from the summer of 1980....(and for what it's worth, this quiz has me typed with a capital "T")
I can actually still remember the first time I ordered coffee and a doughnut at the Dunkin Donuts store on Boylston Street, just down the block from the Massachusetts Historical Society.
"Regular?" the clerk asked, and when I said yes (assuming, being from Seattle, regular coffee meant black coffee) and got it back with cream and two sugars....
Just another small moment of culture shock from the summer of 1980....(and for what it's worth, this quiz has me typed with a capital "T")
You Are a Boston Creme Donut |
 You have a tough exterior. No one wants to mess with you. But on the inside, you're a total pushover and completely soft. You're a traditionalist, and you don't change easily. You're likely to eat the same doughnut every morning, and pout if it's sold out. |
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
European Dream
One of the waitresses at the local restaurant where I like to eat breakfast is going to Paris next month with her boyfriend, who now has a little cash in his pocket having just given up his dream of becoming a rock musician, and selling his guitars on e-Bay. So I wrote up a little itinerary of Ten Days in (and around) Paris for a Young Couple in Love and now would like to invite others to read and add your comments.
Also, if you keep scrolling down you're also welcome to read the letters I wrote while living abroad for a semester as a visiting Doctoral Fellow at Aalborg University in Denmark in 2000.
Also, if you keep scrolling down you're also welcome to read the letters I wrote while living abroad for a semester as a visiting Doctoral Fellow at Aalborg University in Denmark in 2000.
A Seldom Appreciated Ancillary Benefit of a Good Seminary Education
On Monday nights the neighborhood sports bar around the corner from my apartment hosts a "trivia night," where patrons can win up to $40 in free food in what amounts to a two hour contest between teams of up to six members to answer more questions correctly than anyone else in the bar, all in an attempt to sell more beer and buffalo wings now that Monday Night Football is over for the season. Last Monday I wandered in just to catch a bite to eat, ran into a couple of friends I'd met watching the World Series last October, and we decided to form a team...and finished just out of the money (mostly I think because we were being so convivial we weren't really concentrating on the "game" part of the quiz).
So we decided that we would meet up again this week with our game faces on, and see whether we could be a little more competitive than we were on our first night out. Unfortunately though, both of my team mates stood me up, which meant that I had to take on the entire bar all by myself....
You can see where this is going, right?
Yes, it's true -- all by his lonesome the good Reverend Doctor gave all comers a sound intellectual thrashing, blowing away the competition with his obscure knowledge of history, geography, science, pop culture, literature, movies, mythology and yes, even Rock and Roll trivia (I mean, did YOU know that Jimi Hendrix served in the 101st Airborne division before making Rock and Roll history at Woodstock?). In fact, they even tell me I set a new record high score, with 108 out of 142 possible points. And the worst part is, I know if my team mates had been there with me, we probably could have scored at least another dozen...and perhaps as many as 20. I'm sure one of THEM would have known the difference between the chemical names for Prozac and Viagra.
Of course, even as I bask in the glow of my triumph, there's a little voice whispering in my ear "Do you really need to eat another $40 worth of beer and wings? Do you really need to eat another $40 worth of beer and wings...."
So we decided that we would meet up again this week with our game faces on, and see whether we could be a little more competitive than we were on our first night out. Unfortunately though, both of my team mates stood me up, which meant that I had to take on the entire bar all by myself....
You can see where this is going, right?
Yes, it's true -- all by his lonesome the good Reverend Doctor gave all comers a sound intellectual thrashing, blowing away the competition with his obscure knowledge of history, geography, science, pop culture, literature, movies, mythology and yes, even Rock and Roll trivia (I mean, did YOU know that Jimi Hendrix served in the 101st Airborne division before making Rock and Roll history at Woodstock?). In fact, they even tell me I set a new record high score, with 108 out of 142 possible points. And the worst part is, I know if my team mates had been there with me, we probably could have scored at least another dozen...and perhaps as many as 20. I'm sure one of THEM would have known the difference between the chemical names for Prozac and Viagra.
Of course, even as I bask in the glow of my triumph, there's a little voice whispering in my ear "Do you really need to eat another $40 worth of beer and wings? Do you really need to eat another $40 worth of beer and wings...."
Monday, February 18, 2008
Happy Danes!
Just finished watching a "60 Minutes" interview with Tal Ben-Shahar, Harvard's "Professor of Happiness" who teaches a course for undergraduates on Positive Psychology that apparently fills Saunders Theater every semester. I've been a big admirer of Martin Seligman's theory of "Learned Optimism" (along with the entire closely-related Cognitive Therapy movement at Penn) from almost the day the book was originally published, so it's kind of exciting to see the movement gaining such widespread popularity. And I'm particularly delighted to learn that Danes tend to be the happiest people in the "developed" world. Those clever Danes. Despite having the highest suicide rate in the world (and all without a handgun to be found anywhere in the country), they really do know how to have a good time.
Here are Tal Ben-Shahar's "Six Tips for Happiness" (adapted and expanded from an article by Cindy Sher in the JUF (Jewish United Fund/Metro Chicago) News.)
1. Give yourself permission to be human. Embrace painful emotions for what they are, a natural consequence of being alive, rather than trying to suppress or deny them. When we accept emotions such as fear, sadness, or anxiety as natural expressions of being human, we are more likely to be able to integrate them into the larger context of our lives. Rejecting our emotions, positive or negative, leads to frustration and unhappiness. The only people who don't feel emotional pain are sociopaths and the dead.
2. Happiness lies at the intersection between pleasure and meaning. Whether at work or at home, the goal is to engage in activities that are both personally significant and enjoyable. When this is not feasible, make sure you have happiness boosters, moments throughout the week that provide you with both pleasure and meaning. The activities we find both pleasurable and meaningful will vary from person to person, from culture to culture, and even within the same individuals at different stages in their lives. But the importance of healthy pleasure and worthwhile activity remain constant no matter who you are or where you live.
3. Keep in mind that happiness is mostly dependent on our state of mind. Barring extreme circumstances, our level of well-being is determined by what we choose to focus on (the full or the empty part of the glass) and by our interpretation of external events. For example, do we view failure as catastrophic, or do we see it as a survivable learning opportunity which will contribute directly to our eventual success? This is a much more sophisticated idea than simply "the power of positive thinking." How we CHOOSE to frame our experience, by letting go of responsibility for things that are beyond our control, while accepting control of the things we can change (basically, the Serenity Prayer) determines our ability to place failure in context while owning our success. Universalizing the negative ("I'll NEVER be happy") while minimizing positive things (like the importance of healthy relationships) is probably the most significant "thinking error" people make. So do what your mother always told you to do: shake it off, and go find a sympathetic shoulder to cry on until it's out of your system.
4. Simplify! Simplify! Thoreau had this one right two centuries ago. We Americans in particular are generally too busy trying to squeeze in more and more activities into less and less time. Quantity influences quality, and we compromise on our happiness by trying to do it all. It is indeed possible to have too much of a good thing. And even if you could have it all, you wouldn't want it all at once.
5. Remember the mind-body connection. This is the corrective to the most frequent misunderstanding of #3. We are so accustomed to thinking about "mind over matter" and the importance of will-power that we often overlook that the mind-body connection works in both directions. What we do (or don't do) with our bodies influences our state of mind. Regular exercise, adequate sleep, and healthy eating habits lead to both physical and mental health. If you are feeling strong, energetic, and full of life, it is much easier to maintain a positive outlook on the world than it is if you are constantly feeling tired, run-down, and "puny."
6. Express gratitude whenever possible. We too often take our lives for granted. Learn to appreciate and savor the wonderful things in life, from people to food, from nature to a smile. Keep a "gratitude journal" and write in it every night, listing at least five things large or small that you are personally thankful for this day. "Appreciation" is not just the ability to admire something for what it is, it is also the GROWTH that takes place over time as we become more accustomed to wanting the things we have, rather than craving things we see on TV but can never truly possess. Managing our expectations and desires so that they conform with reality, and appreciating life for the miracle that it is (in gratitude, pleasure, and with simply joy rather than resentment, disappointment, and bitter frustration) is the basic secret of True Happiness -- the intersection of Pleasure and Meaning. Americans are notoriously ambitious, competetive, aquisitive and discontent...so it's no wonder that we tend to rank toward the bottom of the happiness scale. We could all learn a lesson from the Danes. Who says high taxes, wind turbines, and socialized, universal health care are bad things?...
Here are Tal Ben-Shahar's "Six Tips for Happiness" (adapted and expanded from an article by Cindy Sher in the JUF (Jewish United Fund/Metro Chicago) News.)
1. Give yourself permission to be human. Embrace painful emotions for what they are, a natural consequence of being alive, rather than trying to suppress or deny them. When we accept emotions such as fear, sadness, or anxiety as natural expressions of being human, we are more likely to be able to integrate them into the larger context of our lives. Rejecting our emotions, positive or negative, leads to frustration and unhappiness. The only people who don't feel emotional pain are sociopaths and the dead.
2. Happiness lies at the intersection between pleasure and meaning. Whether at work or at home, the goal is to engage in activities that are both personally significant and enjoyable. When this is not feasible, make sure you have happiness boosters, moments throughout the week that provide you with both pleasure and meaning. The activities we find both pleasurable and meaningful will vary from person to person, from culture to culture, and even within the same individuals at different stages in their lives. But the importance of healthy pleasure and worthwhile activity remain constant no matter who you are or where you live.
3. Keep in mind that happiness is mostly dependent on our state of mind. Barring extreme circumstances, our level of well-being is determined by what we choose to focus on (the full or the empty part of the glass) and by our interpretation of external events. For example, do we view failure as catastrophic, or do we see it as a survivable learning opportunity which will contribute directly to our eventual success? This is a much more sophisticated idea than simply "the power of positive thinking." How we CHOOSE to frame our experience, by letting go of responsibility for things that are beyond our control, while accepting control of the things we can change (basically, the Serenity Prayer) determines our ability to place failure in context while owning our success. Universalizing the negative ("I'll NEVER be happy") while minimizing positive things (like the importance of healthy relationships) is probably the most significant "thinking error" people make. So do what your mother always told you to do: shake it off, and go find a sympathetic shoulder to cry on until it's out of your system.
4. Simplify! Simplify! Thoreau had this one right two centuries ago. We Americans in particular are generally too busy trying to squeeze in more and more activities into less and less time. Quantity influences quality, and we compromise on our happiness by trying to do it all. It is indeed possible to have too much of a good thing. And even if you could have it all, you wouldn't want it all at once.
5. Remember the mind-body connection. This is the corrective to the most frequent misunderstanding of #3. We are so accustomed to thinking about "mind over matter" and the importance of will-power that we often overlook that the mind-body connection works in both directions. What we do (or don't do) with our bodies influences our state of mind. Regular exercise, adequate sleep, and healthy eating habits lead to both physical and mental health. If you are feeling strong, energetic, and full of life, it is much easier to maintain a positive outlook on the world than it is if you are constantly feeling tired, run-down, and "puny."
6. Express gratitude whenever possible. We too often take our lives for granted. Learn to appreciate and savor the wonderful things in life, from people to food, from nature to a smile. Keep a "gratitude journal" and write in it every night, listing at least five things large or small that you are personally thankful for this day. "Appreciation" is not just the ability to admire something for what it is, it is also the GROWTH that takes place over time as we become more accustomed to wanting the things we have, rather than craving things we see on TV but can never truly possess. Managing our expectations and desires so that they conform with reality, and appreciating life for the miracle that it is (in gratitude, pleasure, and with simply joy rather than resentment, disappointment, and bitter frustration) is the basic secret of True Happiness -- the intersection of Pleasure and Meaning. Americans are notoriously ambitious, competetive, aquisitive and discontent...so it's no wonder that we tend to rank toward the bottom of the happiness scale. We could all learn a lesson from the Danes. Who says high taxes, wind turbines, and socialized, universal health care are bad things?...
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Vive La Différence!
a Special Valentine's Day Bonus Cross-Post.
The lovely and talented PeaceBang (who writes a blog, "Beauty Tips for Ministers," that people actually read) recently returned home from her annual mid-winter sunbreak (this year in Florida) lovestruck and with a new SweetieBang in tow, and wrote a lovely soliloquy regarding the successful search for true love at mid-life.
The mysteriously anonymous "Dutch Treat" responded with a weirdly worthy (PB's words, not mine) set of observations expressing a somewhat more cynical and "masculine" point of view, which in turn inspired PB to post one more time about the spiritual discipline of kissing frogs and the enduring search for that elusive brass ring of fidelity and commitment, which ended with a set of Stephen Sondheim lyrics that could have only been more inspiring if PB had actually sung them for us personally.
Now, just for giggles, I've cut and pasted the whole dialogue here (mostly since I couldn't quite figure out how to put in only the appropriate links to the original posts). Enjoy! And let it be known, just for the record, when I take PB out to dinner, I ALWAYS pick up the check.
***
PEACEBANG
The manic mind of the minister -- Auntie Mame meets Cotton Mather. Blogging about Unitarian Universalism, UU Christian spiritual practice, occasional cultural and political ravings, and the inner life of ministry. PeaceBang is the alter ego of a small town pastor serving a historic New England Unitarian Universalist congregation.
Re-entry Mode And Thoughts On Romantic Timing
January 27, 2008 on 6:43 pm
Hello ‘Bangers,
Here’s hoping that you’re all well and staying warm.
I am in re-entry mode after a lovely Florida vacation, courtesy of some very generous friends who gave me and a colleague pal the use of their condo. I’m not officially back to work until Tuesday which is nice and gives me some time to unpack, do the grocery shopping, and to curse the gods for their obnoxious sense of humor.
It’s just that, you see, Cupid got out one of his biggest, baddest arrows while I was away and hit me and a perfectly innocent other party with it, so now there’s a little jet stream of romance mojo moving north and south between Massachusetts and Southern Florida. A convenient 1,555 miles apart, that’s all. Well, we’ll see. And he doesn’t even own a computer, so there’s no chance of him seeing this, in case you were worried.
If you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time, you’ve been through a few romances with me. Well, let’s say that you’ve been through about 100 bad dates alluded to, sporadic musings on the loneliness of the single life, and many reflections on the special challenges of the single minister.
I have tried not to chronicle every twinge of “gee, I might have met someone special” with my readers — because SisterBang and other pals have always been there to indulge those insecure, ad infinitum ramblings with — and also because no one needs to hear about the ups and downs of a clergywoman’s mostly non-existent dating life and romantic rejections . It’s neither appropriate nor interesting.
But let me offer this: I believe that chemistry is real and that it matters. I believe that kindred spirits and soul mates are real. I believe that we spend many years believing in the well-meant but totally cock-eyed interpretation of us handed down by family lore and old relationships, and that as soon as we jettison all that — really flush it down the toilet for good, it is possible for love to come, and to last. It is that latter process — not having a baby, not getting married, not getting our first paycheck — that makes us truly adult, and makes us truly free for true love to find us.
I have no idea if my new friend from Florida will be a true love. I’m not speaking of what is, but what I believe could be — if not now, maybe later. If not for me, God willing, for thee.
It takes a tremendous amount of work and effort to understand, accept and really know ourselves — to consider the input from those who know us (or think they do) along with our own knowledge of self, and to come up with an accurate and fair assessment of our own character and soul, needs, wants and responsibilities. It takes even harder work than that to hold that authentic person in affectionate and compassionate care, to move beyond the fear and woundedness that comes from being disappointed and treated insensitively, to stop dwelling on past failures, and to trust that God truly has made a unique and precious gift in us that deserves to be honored, and whose deepest recesses are known only to the silent soul. These private places of the soul should not be pried open by curious onlookers or cold-hearted Lotharios who pursue profound confidences in the same fashion that the paparazzi pursue the latest lurid photos of Britney Spears.
Many women have been socialized to gather the opinions of their friends and family when it comes to every subject from how to make a particular recipe, to what they should wear on a first date, to whether or not they should marry, to what career they should pursue next. This kind of intimate and constant gab can be deeply bonding and intimate, but it can also breed the exhaustion and mild contempt that comes with over-exposure to someone else’s vulnerability. At times the best thing for a woman is to cut off, or to be taken off this kind of life-support (however cruel that sounds) and to stand in her own truth for awhile. Not just to cultivate wisdom through spiritual practice and attention to her intuition (which she should be doing already), but to actively assess and, if need be, reject the version of herself assembled by her circle of intimates and to shore up her confidence in the true version; the woman she finally, after many years of hard and honest work, knows she is.
How can I ask someone to love me for better or for worse, unless I can love and accept myself through my own better or worse? Cliched to say it, but I owe my true friends the gift of finally getting it through my thick head that even at our “worst,” we all deserve to be treated sensitively and with compassion, and that love at its most basic means sticking-by. The lesson has finally stuck. Thanks, pals. You know who you are. What Jesus has been trying to convince me of for all these years, you have made real. Wouldn’t it be nice to have the opportunity to practice that spiritual discipline with a Sig Other?
Let’s just say this: if I do ever find true love I would want it to be just like this: during a time of radical emotional freedom and healing, of feeling particularly clear on who I am, what I need and how I want and expect to love and be loved. So no matter what happens with this particular conflagration, as the old song goes, “They Can’t Take That Away From Me.”
Oh, and you know that check-list that so many of us carry around in our heads about who we think we should be with? I’m re-assessing my approach to that. My checklist used to have 40 or so items on it. Now it has about 12:
My Ideal Mate
1. Should be kind and considerate.
2. Should know how to love and be loved, and that includes honesty, trust and loyalty.
3. Should have a great sense of humor.
4. Intelligence.
5. Some kind of cultural interests and talents.
6. Charisma.
7. Be attractive to me.
8. Be attracted to me.
9. Have nice manners.
10. Not be an active addict or criminal.
11. Be politically progressive and actively involved in a spiritual practice or community.
12. Makes my heart go thumpety-thump.
****
Comment by Dutch Treat — February 1, 2008 #
A dozen, down from forty? It’s no wonder some people think men and women come from different planets! Since adolescence my list has grown from one item to two:
1. Has nice tits (any size)
2. Not crazy (negotiable if tits are nice enough)
Seriously though, of course there has to be some sort of mutual attraction or the whole thing’s a non-starter.
Kind, considerate, well-mannered…sure, why not? I mean who wants to be with a cruel, rude and inconsiderate slob? (Oops. Forget I said that. Sorry I asked).
Intelligence and a great sense of humor are highly overrated. I frequently get turned down for dates by women who don’t think they’re smart enough for me. Good thing I can still laugh about it.
Let’s see, spiritually-aware progressive or drug-addicted criminal? I’m going to have to think about that one a little longer.
Making someone’s heart go thumpety-thump is not exactly something anyone can expect to do 24/7, not even movie stars. Some days (hell, these days most days) I’ll settle for a toe-curling climax. Although I have to admit that the next best thing is that sly half-grin and playful twinkle in the eye that reminds me of the last one, and makes me eager for the next.
Charisma? What exactly do you mean by “Charisma?” But I suppose you know it when you see it.
I guess if I were making a longer list (besides the cleavage and sanity thing, and skirting entirely the far more troubling issue of whether or not constant societal objectification eventually makes ALL women crazy), I would have to say that I generally go for smart and funny too — along with kind, considerate, sensitive, well-mannered, politically-progressive and great hair. And yes, she ought to be at least as into me as I’m into her…but not TOO much more — because that gets complicated too.
But mostly I’m just looking for someone who “gets” me — an adventurous soul, curious and generous, thankful, broad-minded, well-travelled and non-judgmental…and definitely not a prude either, although shy and slightly modest (or even a little demure) is probably a better fit than loud and profane.
Not that there’s anything wrong with loud and profane.
But at the end of the day, it really does come down to knowing how to love and be loved. And isn’t this really what we’re all trying to figure out anyway? Honesty. Loyalty. Trust-WORTHINESS. I’m surprised Fidelity didn’t make the list. For a lot of folks, that would have been #1. Not to mention plain and simple old fashioned “commitment.” But that’s what we're all supposed to be afraid of, right?
***
Being Alive: Reflections on The Search For Commitment
February 2, 2008 on 8:49 pm |
I wrote a few days ago about how Cupid done zinged me and a poor, unfortunate soul right in the soft, fleshy part of the heart while I was down in Florida, and Dutch Treat commented that I left “commitment” off of my list of Ideal Qualities for a mate. He said a lot of other worthy things, too, including suggesting that constant objectification may make all women crazy to one degree or another. Well said, brother, and thanks for the weirdly feminist solidarity there, ’cause I tend to agree with you.
I left “commitment” off my list because it was looming so large in my mind that I plumb forgot it. Of course, trustWORTHINESS and commitment. First. Foremost. Forever. How could I have forgotten to say so? What else is there in the end, and what else has been so painfully and sorely missing from all of my previous relationships? You can be in the big, glorious Love Shack all day long, but until someone says, “You and me, baby. You are the brass ring and I’m grabbing it, I’m coming for you, I’m launching myself over the castle walls of all the years of your bitter disappointments and coming to get you, ’cause you’re the prize,” all that billing and cooing and dopamine high is just a pleasant diversion, a sport, a delicious but ultimately unsatisfying meal. And, at my age, increasingly not worth the effort and the hurt. A girl can only get her hopes up so often before she loses some resilience and opts for quiet, peaceful nights with the cat over a ride on the dopamine rollercoaster.
Folks like me who have been dating for what seems like thousands of years are intensely weary of the “Shopping for a Mate” approach made particularly crass by on-line dating sites (scroll through the faces and descriptions, delete, delete, delete, scroll, scroll, scroll some more) and are intensely familiar with the issue of commitment, or lack thereof. We dress up for the Relationship Audition, doll up, get and give the once-over, hope to finally attract a decent companion who will hang around long enough to (however begrudgingly) come to care for us and to become the guy/gal who has GOT. OUR. BACK. Over many years, we come to understand that we have got our own backs, and that single life is wonderful in many ways. But still, for many of us, the hope lingers. We are fine on our own, but gee, wouldn’t it be great to have a Special Someone? Not just any old someone you’re settling for, but someone worthy of the effort it takes to be in a relationship?
While we search, here’s some of what chicks like me endure on those hundreds of dates:
1. No chemistry and occasionally nearly-fatal boredom. 2. We like him, he doesn’t like us; rejection. 3. Slight attraction, but no time or energy for a relationship. 4. He’s depressed, bitter and angry about divorce, needs a therapist, not a girlfriend. 5. Can’t stop talking about former relationships/guilt about being bad father to children. 6. Addictions, or constant reference to former addictions that obviously define his life and sense of self (not necessarily a character flaw, just can’t relate). 7. Major religious differences with obvious lack of respect for our beliefs; arrogant spiritual superiority. 8. Voted for George Bush, and would again. 9. Immediate, unwelcome pressure for sex/no interest in physical intimacy. 10. The scary drama queen- wants to marry you even though you’ve expressed not one iota of interest. 11. Sexy but obnoxious, irritates you even as he attracts you. 12. Funny, cute but totally passive, dating him finally feels like dragging 200 lbs. of potatoes behind us on a little red wagon. 13. Charming, sexy and attentive but just a low-down, cheating lying dawg in the end. 14. Intimidated by successful women/unsupportive of your life (in my case, considers the Church competition for my time, love and attention). 15. Just a loser you would never have wasted your time on if you hadn’t been so lonely (Yes, God loves him but he’s got nothing whatsoever to offer you).
This is how I’ve spent the past 15 years. One item to represent each year. I could go on, of course. The inappropriate crushes. The ones who seem great from a distance (such an impressive resume!) but are really sleazy characters up close. The egotists and the closet cases, the controllers, the ones with no listening skills, the naughty ones you shouldn’t have messed with but couldn’t resist.
You have to kiss a lot of frogs, kids. So let’s hear some good news! Let’s hear about the couples who met and knew, before very long that they had found the brass ring, let’s hear about the ones who clicked and made it stick, the ones who found each other, who spoke “commitment” not as a dirty word but as a delicious caress on the ear. Let’s hear about those of you who dated for as long as I have and at long last met someone whose integrity and goodness your heart could immediately detect even through thick, crusty layers of hurt, disappointment, bitterness and cynicism. Let’s hear about trust, and how your soul can feel that it has come home in someone’s presence, let’s hear it for love in time for Valentine’s Day. Why not? We certainly hear enough bad news about it; let’s sit around the PeaceBang fire and share some of the quiet, unreported tales of happiness between two people.
You do that, and while you do, dig these lyrics by master Broadway genius Stephen Sondheim who wrote this song for the musical “Company,”
BEING ALIVE
Someone to hold you too close
Someone to hurt you too deep
Someone to sit in your chair
And ruin your sleep
And make you aware of being alive
Someone to need you too much
Someone to know you too well
Someone to pull you up short
And put you through hell
And give you support for being alive-being alive
Make me alive, make me confused
Mock me with praise, let me be used
Vary my days, but alone is alone, not alive!
Somebody hold me too close
Somebody force me to care
Somebody make me come through
Ill always be there
As frightened as you of being alive,
Being alive, being alive!
Someone you have to let in
Someone whose feelings you spare
Someone who, like it or not
Will want you to share a little, a lot of being alive
Make me alive, make me confused
Mock me with praise, let me be used
Vary my days, but alone is alone, not alive!
Somebody crowd me with love
Somebody force me to care
Somebody make me come through
Ill always be there
As frightened as you to help us survive,
Being alive, being alive, being alive, being alive
The lovely and talented PeaceBang (who writes a blog, "Beauty Tips for Ministers," that people actually read) recently returned home from her annual mid-winter sunbreak (this year in Florida) lovestruck and with a new SweetieBang in tow, and wrote a lovely soliloquy regarding the successful search for true love at mid-life.
The mysteriously anonymous "Dutch Treat" responded with a weirdly worthy (PB's words, not mine) set of observations expressing a somewhat more cynical and "masculine" point of view, which in turn inspired PB to post one more time about the spiritual discipline of kissing frogs and the enduring search for that elusive brass ring of fidelity and commitment, which ended with a set of Stephen Sondheim lyrics that could have only been more inspiring if PB had actually sung them for us personally.
Now, just for giggles, I've cut and pasted the whole dialogue here (mostly since I couldn't quite figure out how to put in only the appropriate links to the original posts). Enjoy! And let it be known, just for the record, when I take PB out to dinner, I ALWAYS pick up the check.
***
PEACEBANG
The manic mind of the minister -- Auntie Mame meets Cotton Mather. Blogging about Unitarian Universalism, UU Christian spiritual practice, occasional cultural and political ravings, and the inner life of ministry. PeaceBang is the alter ego of a small town pastor serving a historic New England Unitarian Universalist congregation.
Re-entry Mode And Thoughts On Romantic Timing
January 27, 2008 on 6:43 pm
Hello ‘Bangers,
Here’s hoping that you’re all well and staying warm.
I am in re-entry mode after a lovely Florida vacation, courtesy of some very generous friends who gave me and a colleague pal the use of their condo. I’m not officially back to work until Tuesday which is nice and gives me some time to unpack, do the grocery shopping, and to curse the gods for their obnoxious sense of humor.
It’s just that, you see, Cupid got out one of his biggest, baddest arrows while I was away and hit me and a perfectly innocent other party with it, so now there’s a little jet stream of romance mojo moving north and south between Massachusetts and Southern Florida. A convenient 1,555 miles apart, that’s all. Well, we’ll see. And he doesn’t even own a computer, so there’s no chance of him seeing this, in case you were worried.
If you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time, you’ve been through a few romances with me. Well, let’s say that you’ve been through about 100 bad dates alluded to, sporadic musings on the loneliness of the single life, and many reflections on the special challenges of the single minister.
I have tried not to chronicle every twinge of “gee, I might have met someone special” with my readers — because SisterBang and other pals have always been there to indulge those insecure, ad infinitum ramblings with — and also because no one needs to hear about the ups and downs of a clergywoman’s mostly non-existent dating life and romantic rejections . It’s neither appropriate nor interesting.
But let me offer this: I believe that chemistry is real and that it matters. I believe that kindred spirits and soul mates are real. I believe that we spend many years believing in the well-meant but totally cock-eyed interpretation of us handed down by family lore and old relationships, and that as soon as we jettison all that — really flush it down the toilet for good, it is possible for love to come, and to last. It is that latter process — not having a baby, not getting married, not getting our first paycheck — that makes us truly adult, and makes us truly free for true love to find us.
I have no idea if my new friend from Florida will be a true love. I’m not speaking of what is, but what I believe could be — if not now, maybe later. If not for me, God willing, for thee.
It takes a tremendous amount of work and effort to understand, accept and really know ourselves — to consider the input from those who know us (or think they do) along with our own knowledge of self, and to come up with an accurate and fair assessment of our own character and soul, needs, wants and responsibilities. It takes even harder work than that to hold that authentic person in affectionate and compassionate care, to move beyond the fear and woundedness that comes from being disappointed and treated insensitively, to stop dwelling on past failures, and to trust that God truly has made a unique and precious gift in us that deserves to be honored, and whose deepest recesses are known only to the silent soul. These private places of the soul should not be pried open by curious onlookers or cold-hearted Lotharios who pursue profound confidences in the same fashion that the paparazzi pursue the latest lurid photos of Britney Spears.
Many women have been socialized to gather the opinions of their friends and family when it comes to every subject from how to make a particular recipe, to what they should wear on a first date, to whether or not they should marry, to what career they should pursue next. This kind of intimate and constant gab can be deeply bonding and intimate, but it can also breed the exhaustion and mild contempt that comes with over-exposure to someone else’s vulnerability. At times the best thing for a woman is to cut off, or to be taken off this kind of life-support (however cruel that sounds) and to stand in her own truth for awhile. Not just to cultivate wisdom through spiritual practice and attention to her intuition (which she should be doing already), but to actively assess and, if need be, reject the version of herself assembled by her circle of intimates and to shore up her confidence in the true version; the woman she finally, after many years of hard and honest work, knows she is.
How can I ask someone to love me for better or for worse, unless I can love and accept myself through my own better or worse? Cliched to say it, but I owe my true friends the gift of finally getting it through my thick head that even at our “worst,” we all deserve to be treated sensitively and with compassion, and that love at its most basic means sticking-by. The lesson has finally stuck. Thanks, pals. You know who you are. What Jesus has been trying to convince me of for all these years, you have made real. Wouldn’t it be nice to have the opportunity to practice that spiritual discipline with a Sig Other?
Let’s just say this: if I do ever find true love I would want it to be just like this: during a time of radical emotional freedom and healing, of feeling particularly clear on who I am, what I need and how I want and expect to love and be loved. So no matter what happens with this particular conflagration, as the old song goes, “They Can’t Take That Away From Me.”
Oh, and you know that check-list that so many of us carry around in our heads about who we think we should be with? I’m re-assessing my approach to that. My checklist used to have 40 or so items on it. Now it has about 12:
My Ideal Mate
1. Should be kind and considerate.
2. Should know how to love and be loved, and that includes honesty, trust and loyalty.
3. Should have a great sense of humor.
4. Intelligence.
5. Some kind of cultural interests and talents.
6. Charisma.
7. Be attractive to me.
8. Be attracted to me.
9. Have nice manners.
10. Not be an active addict or criminal.
11. Be politically progressive and actively involved in a spiritual practice or community.
12. Makes my heart go thumpety-thump.
****
Comment by Dutch Treat — February 1, 2008 #
A dozen, down from forty? It’s no wonder some people think men and women come from different planets! Since adolescence my list has grown from one item to two:
1. Has nice tits (any size)
2. Not crazy (negotiable if tits are nice enough)
Seriously though, of course there has to be some sort of mutual attraction or the whole thing’s a non-starter.
Kind, considerate, well-mannered…sure, why not? I mean who wants to be with a cruel, rude and inconsiderate slob? (Oops. Forget I said that. Sorry I asked).
Intelligence and a great sense of humor are highly overrated. I frequently get turned down for dates by women who don’t think they’re smart enough for me. Good thing I can still laugh about it.
Let’s see, spiritually-aware progressive or drug-addicted criminal? I’m going to have to think about that one a little longer.
Making someone’s heart go thumpety-thump is not exactly something anyone can expect to do 24/7, not even movie stars. Some days (hell, these days most days) I’ll settle for a toe-curling climax. Although I have to admit that the next best thing is that sly half-grin and playful twinkle in the eye that reminds me of the last one, and makes me eager for the next.
Charisma? What exactly do you mean by “Charisma?” But I suppose you know it when you see it.
I guess if I were making a longer list (besides the cleavage and sanity thing, and skirting entirely the far more troubling issue of whether or not constant societal objectification eventually makes ALL women crazy), I would have to say that I generally go for smart and funny too — along with kind, considerate, sensitive, well-mannered, politically-progressive and great hair. And yes, she ought to be at least as into me as I’m into her…but not TOO much more — because that gets complicated too.
But mostly I’m just looking for someone who “gets” me — an adventurous soul, curious and generous, thankful, broad-minded, well-travelled and non-judgmental…and definitely not a prude either, although shy and slightly modest (or even a little demure) is probably a better fit than loud and profane.
Not that there’s anything wrong with loud and profane.
But at the end of the day, it really does come down to knowing how to love and be loved. And isn’t this really what we’re all trying to figure out anyway? Honesty. Loyalty. Trust-WORTHINESS. I’m surprised Fidelity didn’t make the list. For a lot of folks, that would have been #1. Not to mention plain and simple old fashioned “commitment.” But that’s what we're all supposed to be afraid of, right?
***
Being Alive: Reflections on The Search For Commitment
February 2, 2008 on 8:49 pm |
I wrote a few days ago about how Cupid done zinged me and a poor, unfortunate soul right in the soft, fleshy part of the heart while I was down in Florida, and Dutch Treat commented that I left “commitment” off of my list of Ideal Qualities for a mate. He said a lot of other worthy things, too, including suggesting that constant objectification may make all women crazy to one degree or another. Well said, brother, and thanks for the weirdly feminist solidarity there, ’cause I tend to agree with you.
I left “commitment” off my list because it was looming so large in my mind that I plumb forgot it. Of course, trustWORTHINESS and commitment. First. Foremost. Forever. How could I have forgotten to say so? What else is there in the end, and what else has been so painfully and sorely missing from all of my previous relationships? You can be in the big, glorious Love Shack all day long, but until someone says, “You and me, baby. You are the brass ring and I’m grabbing it, I’m coming for you, I’m launching myself over the castle walls of all the years of your bitter disappointments and coming to get you, ’cause you’re the prize,” all that billing and cooing and dopamine high is just a pleasant diversion, a sport, a delicious but ultimately unsatisfying meal. And, at my age, increasingly not worth the effort and the hurt. A girl can only get her hopes up so often before she loses some resilience and opts for quiet, peaceful nights with the cat over a ride on the dopamine rollercoaster.
Folks like me who have been dating for what seems like thousands of years are intensely weary of the “Shopping for a Mate” approach made particularly crass by on-line dating sites (scroll through the faces and descriptions, delete, delete, delete, scroll, scroll, scroll some more) and are intensely familiar with the issue of commitment, or lack thereof. We dress up for the Relationship Audition, doll up, get and give the once-over, hope to finally attract a decent companion who will hang around long enough to (however begrudgingly) come to care for us and to become the guy/gal who has GOT. OUR. BACK. Over many years, we come to understand that we have got our own backs, and that single life is wonderful in many ways. But still, for many of us, the hope lingers. We are fine on our own, but gee, wouldn’t it be great to have a Special Someone? Not just any old someone you’re settling for, but someone worthy of the effort it takes to be in a relationship?
While we search, here’s some of what chicks like me endure on those hundreds of dates:
1. No chemistry and occasionally nearly-fatal boredom. 2. We like him, he doesn’t like us; rejection. 3. Slight attraction, but no time or energy for a relationship. 4. He’s depressed, bitter and angry about divorce, needs a therapist, not a girlfriend. 5. Can’t stop talking about former relationships/guilt about being bad father to children. 6. Addictions, or constant reference to former addictions that obviously define his life and sense of self (not necessarily a character flaw, just can’t relate). 7. Major religious differences with obvious lack of respect for our beliefs; arrogant spiritual superiority. 8. Voted for George Bush, and would again. 9. Immediate, unwelcome pressure for sex/no interest in physical intimacy. 10. The scary drama queen- wants to marry you even though you’ve expressed not one iota of interest. 11. Sexy but obnoxious, irritates you even as he attracts you. 12. Funny, cute but totally passive, dating him finally feels like dragging 200 lbs. of potatoes behind us on a little red wagon. 13. Charming, sexy and attentive but just a low-down, cheating lying dawg in the end. 14. Intimidated by successful women/unsupportive of your life (in my case, considers the Church competition for my time, love and attention). 15. Just a loser you would never have wasted your time on if you hadn’t been so lonely (Yes, God loves him but he’s got nothing whatsoever to offer you).
This is how I’ve spent the past 15 years. One item to represent each year. I could go on, of course. The inappropriate crushes. The ones who seem great from a distance (such an impressive resume!) but are really sleazy characters up close. The egotists and the closet cases, the controllers, the ones with no listening skills, the naughty ones you shouldn’t have messed with but couldn’t resist.
You have to kiss a lot of frogs, kids. So let’s hear some good news! Let’s hear about the couples who met and knew, before very long that they had found the brass ring, let’s hear about the ones who clicked and made it stick, the ones who found each other, who spoke “commitment” not as a dirty word but as a delicious caress on the ear. Let’s hear about those of you who dated for as long as I have and at long last met someone whose integrity and goodness your heart could immediately detect even through thick, crusty layers of hurt, disappointment, bitterness and cynicism. Let’s hear about trust, and how your soul can feel that it has come home in someone’s presence, let’s hear it for love in time for Valentine’s Day. Why not? We certainly hear enough bad news about it; let’s sit around the PeaceBang fire and share some of the quiet, unreported tales of happiness between two people.
You do that, and while you do, dig these lyrics by master Broadway genius Stephen Sondheim who wrote this song for the musical “Company,”
BEING ALIVE
Someone to hold you too close
Someone to hurt you too deep
Someone to sit in your chair
And ruin your sleep
And make you aware of being alive
Someone to need you too much
Someone to know you too well
Someone to pull you up short
And put you through hell
And give you support for being alive-being alive
Make me alive, make me confused
Mock me with praise, let me be used
Vary my days, but alone is alone, not alive!
Somebody hold me too close
Somebody force me to care
Somebody make me come through
Ill always be there
As frightened as you of being alive,
Being alive, being alive!
Someone you have to let in
Someone whose feelings you spare
Someone who, like it or not
Will want you to share a little, a lot of being alive
Make me alive, make me confused
Mock me with praise, let me be used
Vary my days, but alone is alone, not alive!
Somebody crowd me with love
Somebody force me to care
Somebody make me come through
Ill always be there
As frightened as you to help us survive,
Being alive, being alive, being alive, being alive
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
I am SO ready...
for winter to be over. Last night's storm was the most annoying yet; probably 8 inches of wet, heavy snow, and of course the snowplow buried my recycling before the garbage collector could collect it...then about 9 am the snow switched over to freezing rain, and then not-so-freezing rain, and now after nightfall the street outside my house is like a river. Not a slow, lazy, meandering river either. A rushing river....
Needless to say, Princess Parker is not pleased. But I don't think I'd be too happy either if I had to strip naked and poop in snow up to my chest. At least the local firefighters had the good manners to come shovel out a hydrant for her!
Clearly, not a fit night out for man nor beast. And our little household is one of each....
Needless to say, Princess Parker is not pleased. But I don't think I'd be too happy either if I had to strip naked and poop in snow up to my chest. At least the local firefighters had the good manners to come shovel out a hydrant for her!
Clearly, not a fit night out for man nor beast. And our little household is one of each....
Saturday, February 02, 2008
From Toast of the Town...
to Just Toast. I wish I could say I wrote that, but it's actually something I saw on-line linking to a story about Rudy Giuliani's recent withdrawal from the Presidential campaign. Still, there's nothing I like better than a clever, well-turned phrase. Seems a pity to squander it on the washed-out aspirations of a washed-up Mayor. Even if he was the Mayor of New York City.
Maybe the Romans did say it better. Sic Gloria Transit Mundi Usually translated as "All Glory is Fleeting," but perhaps better expressed as "thus goes worldly glory." Three things all human beings have in common: each of us is unique, none of us is perfect, all of us are going to die. It's important to remember in our moments of triumph, when we stand out above the admiring crowd, that in the end we all become one with the dust from whence we came. As Kurt Vonnegut put it, "so it goes." The details are merely incidental.
And yet, God is also in the details. In the face of death and with painfully-full awareness of our own imperfections, we remain the fortunate recipients of this amazing gift of life itself: this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to live, to love, to indulge in the pleasures of our senses and explore wherever our curious imaginations may lead us -- to weigh the worth and value of all we encounter, make judgments, make choices, make a difference in the world. We are born blind, helpless and completely dependent upon the care of others, aware only of the power of our own appetites. How we live from that moment forward to the moment of our death is the product of a great many things beyond our control, but ultimately we alone are charged with the privilege and the duty, the right and the responsibility, the opportunity and the obligation to determine what our lives will mean in the greater scheme of the universe.
Kinda seems a little overwhelming, doesn't it? But you know, that's just the way life is sometimes....
Maybe the Romans did say it better. Sic Gloria Transit Mundi Usually translated as "All Glory is Fleeting," but perhaps better expressed as "thus goes worldly glory." Three things all human beings have in common: each of us is unique, none of us is perfect, all of us are going to die. It's important to remember in our moments of triumph, when we stand out above the admiring crowd, that in the end we all become one with the dust from whence we came. As Kurt Vonnegut put it, "so it goes." The details are merely incidental.
And yet, God is also in the details. In the face of death and with painfully-full awareness of our own imperfections, we remain the fortunate recipients of this amazing gift of life itself: this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to live, to love, to indulge in the pleasures of our senses and explore wherever our curious imaginations may lead us -- to weigh the worth and value of all we encounter, make judgments, make choices, make a difference in the world. We are born blind, helpless and completely dependent upon the care of others, aware only of the power of our own appetites. How we live from that moment forward to the moment of our death is the product of a great many things beyond our control, but ultimately we alone are charged with the privilege and the duty, the right and the responsibility, the opportunity and the obligation to determine what our lives will mean in the greater scheme of the universe.
Kinda seems a little overwhelming, doesn't it? But you know, that's just the way life is sometimes....
Friday, February 01, 2008
CAMBODIAN ORPHAN UPDATE
In the last few hours of this contest, The Sharing Foundation surged from out of the money into first place, with over 1700 unique individual contributors (approximately 300 of whom came forward to donate on the last day). You can see the unofficial final results below. Thanks so much to all of you who helped make this possible! Small acts of generosity by large numbers of people can indeed make great things happen.
Global Giving Challenge Leaderboard (unofficial final results)
Global Giving Challenge Leaderboard (unofficial final results)
Thursday, January 31, 2008
ROUTE OUT OF POVERTY FOR CAMBODIAN CHILDREN
So here's today's big chance to do one small thing to make the world a little bit better place for us all. But don't think about it too long, because the contest ends today at High Noon, Pacific Standard Time (that's 3 pm here on the East Coast). It's only going to cost you $10, and is going to make a huge difference in the lives of some very small children; so if you could find it in your heart to take five minutes to make a donation and then e-mail your own friends, it would be a very good thing. And personally, I would LOVE to be able to say that it was MY friends who put them over the top and into the money.
Donate to the Sharing Foundation
Donate to the Sharing Foundation
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Compliments of my younger brother (a Wall Street investment banker)
This was forwarded to me this afternoon, and is apparently making the rounds on Wall Street. Nice to know that investment bankers have a sense of irony too....
This year, both Groundhog Day and the State of the Union Address fall on the same day.
It is an ironic juxtaposition: one involves a meaningless ritual in which we look to a creature of little intelligence for prognostication.
The other involves a groundhog.
This year, both Groundhog Day and the State of the Union Address fall on the same day.
It is an ironic juxtaposition: one involves a meaningless ritual in which we look to a creature of little intelligence for prognostication.
The other involves a groundhog.
Friday, January 25, 2008
I WON THE LOTTERY!!!
OK, so it was only $10. Still, as my Dad used to say, it's better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. I first started playing the Powerball when I was still commuting to graduate school in Oregon, and was buying gas two or three times a week at various filling stations and convenience stores all along the I-5 corridor. It didn't take that much more time simply to hand the clerk an extra $5 and my play-slip, and play my numbers for another couple of weeks every few tankfulls. I figured I probably got at least that much entertainment value daydreaming as I drove along the Interstate about what I would do with the $100 million if my numbers ever actually hit. (There used to be a billboard about half-way between Portland and Eugene that displayed the predicted amount of the next jackpot, so I always knew exactly how much money I stood to win.) And besides, my Daddy also always used to tell me that "the lottery is simply a tax on the mathematically illiterate." But you know? -- I think that's probably a tax I owe....
When I moved back east in 2001, I discovered that in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts they have something called a "season ticket," where you can pay $90 at the beginning of the year and play your numbers 104 times: every Wednesday and Saturday drawing for an entire calendar year. Not only was it way more convenient, but I got a discount too! So what if the prize wasn't quite as large as the Powerball? It certainly didn't effect the quality of my daydreaming one little bit.
I don't really consider the lottery "gambling," because I don't really have anything at risk. I consider the money I pay for my ticket gone the moment it leaves my hand -- an act of public charity in support of schools and economic development and whatever other good causes those revenues are used for. And likewise, any money that may happen to come back my way is simply a windfall gift of grace. Gambling is going without adequate health insurance so you can afford food and heating oil, or creating privatized Social Security retirement accounts based on the assumption that stocks will continue to rise forever. I don't like to play cards or visit casinos, I don't bet on sporting events (except maybe for filling out an NCAA Final Four bracket every year, or an occasional "honor" bet with other clergy I know when our home-town teams are competing for a championship), I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in horse racing or dog racing or cock fighting (or dog fighting!) or any of the other various "bloodsports" which "Sporting Men" have traditionally wagered on over the years. In fact, the whole culture of gambling kinda creeps me out.
I know a lot of people play the lottery so they can dream about quitting their jobs. But most clergy I know, whether they play or not, basically daydream about what it would be like to be able to do their jobs PROPERLY without having to fret about the constant hassle of money in the first place! And I'm also amazed by the widespread cultural assumption that if by some strange twist of fate a minister does come in to "sudden money" (whether in the lottery, or on a game show, or even through their own hard work or by winning some sort of merit-based prize), that they will give away a good portion of their new-found wealth to the church and to other "good causes."
Frankly, I suspect that if I ever DID come into a significant amount of money, I would actually find the experience kind of overwhelming, and that my biggest struggle would be figuring out how best to hold on to the things about my current lifestyle that I value most now. Sure, it would be nice to be able to pay off my car loan, and my kids' student loans, and maybe even those of my brother's kids as well. I would probably start shopping a little more seriously for a house (which is something I probably ought to be doing anyway, except that I really like the apartment I'm living in now), and I would definitely travel more, and probably even buy a boat. All things I could no doubt afford to do already, if I wasn't so distracted and preoccupied by the day to day demands of earning a living by trying to do good instead of doing well. I would certainly be paying a lot more money to lawyers and accountants than I would ever dream of doing now. And yes, I would probably give away a good portion of the money to churches and other "good causes." I mean, why would I want to change what I'm trying to do already?
But the real truth is, I won the lottery the day I was born. And I've known for a long, long time now just how lucky I truly am, and how little I really deserve it, and how much of my own relative comfort and prosperity is rooted, ultimately, in the economic exploitation of less-fortunate souls whom I will in all likelihood never meet or even see unless I actively seek them out. And at the same time, I wonder how many of my own frustrations regarding the compensation practices of my previous congregation were really just rooted in my own deeply-felt sense of class privilege and entitlement, and a sort of fundamental resentment about feeling treated like a "servant" by people who are significantly more wealthy than I've chosen to be, and who feel that entitles them to certain special privileges of their own.
Anyway, saw this meme on another blog, and thought I'd fill it out...with reflections, of course.
[*From What Privileges Do You Have?, based on an exercise about class and privilege developed by Will Barratt, Meagan Cahill, Angie Carlen, Minnette Huck, Drew Lurker, Stacy Ploskonka at Illinois State University. If you participate in this blog game, they ask that you PLEASE acknowledge their copyright.]
Bold the true statements.
1. Father went to college.
2. Father finished college.
3. Mother went to college.
4. Mother finished college.
5. Have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor.
Of course, what really amazes me about question five is how "professor" has replaced "minister" on the traditional list of "learned professions." Clergy were the original professional "professors of faith," whose knowledge of ancient languages entitled them to profess doctrine as "doctors of the church." To practice Law you needed to read Latin. To practice Medicine you needed to read Latin and Greek. But to profess Theology you needed to be fluent in Greek, Latin and Hebrew...which in colonial New England towns often made the minister both the community physician and the designated "arbitrator of disputes" as well.
6. Were the same or higher class than your high school teachers.
Yes, it's true -- I attended one of those High Schools where the student parking lot contained MUCH nicer vehicles than those in the faculty parking lot. Which is why I always tried to park in the faculty lot myself....
7. Had more than 50 books in your childhood home.
8. Had more than 500 books in your childhood home.
500 books is a helluva lot of books, and I never actually counted them all up, but I suspect there were at least 500. By the time I left for college, I probably owned close to 200 books myself. And of course, now, I own considerably more than that. This question would probably make my own children laugh out loud....
9. Were read children's books by a parent.
10. Had lessons of any kind before you turned 18.
11. Had more than two kinds of lessons before you turned 18.
Swimming lessons and trumpet lessons (which came through the school). Kinda wish I'd had more. But my mom had all sorts of "advantages" pressed upon her when she was a little girl, and I suspect that she wanted to spare her own children that experience. And of course my Dad HADN'T, and probably felt they were a little over-the-top. So I never had to learn how to play the piano. Although I suppose it's never too late to start.
12. The people in the media who dress and talk like me are portrayed positively.
"Positive" is in the eye of the beholder. I would probably be a pretty strong candidate for a "Queer Eye" makeover.
13. Had a credit card with your name on it before you turned 18.
This is kind of tricky, but I'm going to say "no." I did open my own checking account when I started college at age 17, and it came with an ATM card...but not the kind of ATM/debit card you see today. I didn't get a credit card until I turned 21, and started graduate school.
14. Your parents (or a trust) paid for the majority of your college costs.
15. Your parents (or a trust) paid for all of your college costs.
These are also kind of tricky, since I went to college/graduate school for a VERY long time. My parents paid 100% of the first two years of my undergraduate education at the University of Washington (where in-state tuition in those days was $188/quarter). My final two years my tuition and books were paid by my grandmother, and I covered my own Room and Board costs by working as a Residence Hall Advisor. I also earned spending money through a variety of other summer and part-time jobs, but I never (for example) had to spend my summers working in a salmon cannery in Alaska like so many of my friends did, and as a result I was always able to make school my first priority, and never really had to worry when the term bill came due. I did, by the way, physically write all of the checks to pay those bills myself (which was why I had my own checking account); and whatever money that came from my parents was contingent upon me making continuous progress towards my degree and maintaining a certain GPA, neither of which were ever especially problematic for me. Most of my post-Graduate education was paid for through a combination of grants, loans, scholarships, fellowships, internships, teaching assistantships, and other part-time employment. After awhile, school basically became just another highly-interesting, relatively low-paying (but with great benefits) job for me. So yes, I confess: I was a "professional student." And I was really pretty good at it too.
16. Went to a private high school.
I attended Newport High School in Bellevue, Washington -- a public High School routinely rated by Newsweek magazine as one of the top twenty High Schools in the country. Which really amazes me every time I see those rankings. It sure wasn't that way when I went there. Nearly attended the Lakeside Academy (with Bill Gates and Paul Allen) my Senior year (long story for another day), but my Dad decided it would be more cost-effective simply to bribe me to work harder where I was (see below). Who knows how my life might have been different if he had chosen the other option.
17. Went to summer camp.
But not a lot. My folks didn't really believe in it. And we had this great house at the beach (which belonged to my Grandmother) that was a lot better than camp anyway. But sometimes day camp. Or Scout camp. After the end of Little League season, of course.
18. Had a private tutor before you turned 18.
19. Family vacations involved staying at hotels.
Our family vacations typically involved visiting other family members, and staying with them.
20. Your clothing was all bought new before you turned 18.
Of course, I was the oldest child, which meant there was nobody to hand clothes down to me. Except my cousins. And my mom was a fantastic seamstress. But mostly my clothes were bought new. And God how I hated to shop!
21. Your parents bought you a car that was not a hand-me-down from them.
This is a both/and answer. My first car was a hand-me-down from my mother, a 1962 Red Plymouth Valiant Station Wagon (with a push-button gear shift). But my parents also bought me a car of my own (a used Triumph sports car, no less) as a reward/bribe for improving my High School grades to a 4.0 from their dismal slacker levels my junior year.
22. There was original art in your house when you were a child.
23. You and your family lived in a single-family house.
24. Your parent(s) owned their own house or apartment before you left home.
25. You had your own room as a child.
26. You had a phone in your room before you turned 18.
Again, my parents didn't believe in private phones for kids. And I didn't really spend a lot of time on the phone as a teenager anyway.
27. Participated in a SAT/ACT prep course.
28. Had your own TV in your room in high school.
29. Owned a mutual fund or IRA in high school or college.
30. Flew anywhere on a commercial airline before you turned 16.
31. Went on a cruise with your family.
32. Went on more than one cruise with your family.
These cruise questions are also tricky -- I've NEVER been on a "cruise" per se, even as an adult, and I'm not so sure that I would ever really want to. But my parents owned a boat when I was a teenager, and we "cruised" in the San Juan Islands pretty much every summer. Does that count?
33. Your parents took you to museums and art galleries as you grew up.
34. You were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family.
Absolutely. In fact, I was pretty much unaware of ALL my family's household expenses (and income) growing up. And ironically, it was a disagreement over who was supposed to pay for the heating oil at the parsonage in my last settlement that was at the root of my eventual disillusionment with that congregation, and my decision to seek a new position at a different church instead.
When I moved back east in 2001, I discovered that in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts they have something called a "season ticket," where you can pay $90 at the beginning of the year and play your numbers 104 times: every Wednesday and Saturday drawing for an entire calendar year. Not only was it way more convenient, but I got a discount too! So what if the prize wasn't quite as large as the Powerball? It certainly didn't effect the quality of my daydreaming one little bit.
I don't really consider the lottery "gambling," because I don't really have anything at risk. I consider the money I pay for my ticket gone the moment it leaves my hand -- an act of public charity in support of schools and economic development and whatever other good causes those revenues are used for. And likewise, any money that may happen to come back my way is simply a windfall gift of grace. Gambling is going without adequate health insurance so you can afford food and heating oil, or creating privatized Social Security retirement accounts based on the assumption that stocks will continue to rise forever. I don't like to play cards or visit casinos, I don't bet on sporting events (except maybe for filling out an NCAA Final Four bracket every year, or an occasional "honor" bet with other clergy I know when our home-town teams are competing for a championship), I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in horse racing or dog racing or cock fighting (or dog fighting!) or any of the other various "bloodsports" which "Sporting Men" have traditionally wagered on over the years. In fact, the whole culture of gambling kinda creeps me out.
I know a lot of people play the lottery so they can dream about quitting their jobs. But most clergy I know, whether they play or not, basically daydream about what it would be like to be able to do their jobs PROPERLY without having to fret about the constant hassle of money in the first place! And I'm also amazed by the widespread cultural assumption that if by some strange twist of fate a minister does come in to "sudden money" (whether in the lottery, or on a game show, or even through their own hard work or by winning some sort of merit-based prize), that they will give away a good portion of their new-found wealth to the church and to other "good causes."
Frankly, I suspect that if I ever DID come into a significant amount of money, I would actually find the experience kind of overwhelming, and that my biggest struggle would be figuring out how best to hold on to the things about my current lifestyle that I value most now. Sure, it would be nice to be able to pay off my car loan, and my kids' student loans, and maybe even those of my brother's kids as well. I would probably start shopping a little more seriously for a house (which is something I probably ought to be doing anyway, except that I really like the apartment I'm living in now), and I would definitely travel more, and probably even buy a boat. All things I could no doubt afford to do already, if I wasn't so distracted and preoccupied by the day to day demands of earning a living by trying to do good instead of doing well. I would certainly be paying a lot more money to lawyers and accountants than I would ever dream of doing now. And yes, I would probably give away a good portion of the money to churches and other "good causes." I mean, why would I want to change what I'm trying to do already?
But the real truth is, I won the lottery the day I was born. And I've known for a long, long time now just how lucky I truly am, and how little I really deserve it, and how much of my own relative comfort and prosperity is rooted, ultimately, in the economic exploitation of less-fortunate souls whom I will in all likelihood never meet or even see unless I actively seek them out. And at the same time, I wonder how many of my own frustrations regarding the compensation practices of my previous congregation were really just rooted in my own deeply-felt sense of class privilege and entitlement, and a sort of fundamental resentment about feeling treated like a "servant" by people who are significantly more wealthy than I've chosen to be, and who feel that entitles them to certain special privileges of their own.
Anyway, saw this meme on another blog, and thought I'd fill it out...with reflections, of course.
[*From What Privileges Do You Have?, based on an exercise about class and privilege developed by Will Barratt, Meagan Cahill, Angie Carlen, Minnette Huck, Drew Lurker, Stacy Ploskonka at Illinois State University. If you participate in this blog game, they ask that you PLEASE acknowledge their copyright.]
Bold the true statements.
1. Father went to college.
2. Father finished college.
3. Mother went to college.
4. Mother finished college.
5. Have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor.
Of course, what really amazes me about question five is how "professor" has replaced "minister" on the traditional list of "learned professions." Clergy were the original professional "professors of faith," whose knowledge of ancient languages entitled them to profess doctrine as "doctors of the church." To practice Law you needed to read Latin. To practice Medicine you needed to read Latin and Greek. But to profess Theology you needed to be fluent in Greek, Latin and Hebrew...which in colonial New England towns often made the minister both the community physician and the designated "arbitrator of disputes" as well.
6. Were the same or higher class than your high school teachers.
Yes, it's true -- I attended one of those High Schools where the student parking lot contained MUCH nicer vehicles than those in the faculty parking lot. Which is why I always tried to park in the faculty lot myself....
7. Had more than 50 books in your childhood home.
8. Had more than 500 books in your childhood home.
500 books is a helluva lot of books, and I never actually counted them all up, but I suspect there were at least 500. By the time I left for college, I probably owned close to 200 books myself. And of course, now, I own considerably more than that. This question would probably make my own children laugh out loud....
9. Were read children's books by a parent.
10. Had lessons of any kind before you turned 18.
11. Had more than two kinds of lessons before you turned 18.
Swimming lessons and trumpet lessons (which came through the school). Kinda wish I'd had more. But my mom had all sorts of "advantages" pressed upon her when she was a little girl, and I suspect that she wanted to spare her own children that experience. And of course my Dad HADN'T, and probably felt they were a little over-the-top. So I never had to learn how to play the piano. Although I suppose it's never too late to start.
12. The people in the media who dress and talk like me are portrayed positively.
"Positive" is in the eye of the beholder. I would probably be a pretty strong candidate for a "Queer Eye" makeover.
13. Had a credit card with your name on it before you turned 18.
This is kind of tricky, but I'm going to say "no." I did open my own checking account when I started college at age 17, and it came with an ATM card...but not the kind of ATM/debit card you see today. I didn't get a credit card until I turned 21, and started graduate school.
14. Your parents (or a trust) paid for the majority of your college costs.
15. Your parents (or a trust) paid for all of your college costs.
These are also kind of tricky, since I went to college/graduate school for a VERY long time. My parents paid 100% of the first two years of my undergraduate education at the University of Washington (where in-state tuition in those days was $188/quarter). My final two years my tuition and books were paid by my grandmother, and I covered my own Room and Board costs by working as a Residence Hall Advisor. I also earned spending money through a variety of other summer and part-time jobs, but I never (for example) had to spend my summers working in a salmon cannery in Alaska like so many of my friends did, and as a result I was always able to make school my first priority, and never really had to worry when the term bill came due. I did, by the way, physically write all of the checks to pay those bills myself (which was why I had my own checking account); and whatever money that came from my parents was contingent upon me making continuous progress towards my degree and maintaining a certain GPA, neither of which were ever especially problematic for me. Most of my post-Graduate education was paid for through a combination of grants, loans, scholarships, fellowships, internships, teaching assistantships, and other part-time employment. After awhile, school basically became just another highly-interesting, relatively low-paying (but with great benefits) job for me. So yes, I confess: I was a "professional student." And I was really pretty good at it too.
16. Went to a private high school.
I attended Newport High School in Bellevue, Washington -- a public High School routinely rated by Newsweek magazine as one of the top twenty High Schools in the country. Which really amazes me every time I see those rankings. It sure wasn't that way when I went there. Nearly attended the Lakeside Academy (with Bill Gates and Paul Allen) my Senior year (long story for another day), but my Dad decided it would be more cost-effective simply to bribe me to work harder where I was (see below). Who knows how my life might have been different if he had chosen the other option.
17. Went to summer camp.
But not a lot. My folks didn't really believe in it. And we had this great house at the beach (which belonged to my Grandmother) that was a lot better than camp anyway. But sometimes day camp. Or Scout camp. After the end of Little League season, of course.
18. Had a private tutor before you turned 18.
19. Family vacations involved staying at hotels.
Our family vacations typically involved visiting other family members, and staying with them.
20. Your clothing was all bought new before you turned 18.
Of course, I was the oldest child, which meant there was nobody to hand clothes down to me. Except my cousins. And my mom was a fantastic seamstress. But mostly my clothes were bought new. And God how I hated to shop!
21. Your parents bought you a car that was not a hand-me-down from them.
This is a both/and answer. My first car was a hand-me-down from my mother, a 1962 Red Plymouth Valiant Station Wagon (with a push-button gear shift). But my parents also bought me a car of my own (a used Triumph sports car, no less) as a reward/bribe for improving my High School grades to a 4.0 from their dismal slacker levels my junior year.
22. There was original art in your house when you were a child.
23. You and your family lived in a single-family house.
24. Your parent(s) owned their own house or apartment before you left home.
25. You had your own room as a child.
26. You had a phone in your room before you turned 18.
Again, my parents didn't believe in private phones for kids. And I didn't really spend a lot of time on the phone as a teenager anyway.
27. Participated in a SAT/ACT prep course.
28. Had your own TV in your room in high school.
29. Owned a mutual fund or IRA in high school or college.
30. Flew anywhere on a commercial airline before you turned 16.
31. Went on a cruise with your family.
32. Went on more than one cruise with your family.
These cruise questions are also tricky -- I've NEVER been on a "cruise" per se, even as an adult, and I'm not so sure that I would ever really want to. But my parents owned a boat when I was a teenager, and we "cruised" in the San Juan Islands pretty much every summer. Does that count?
33. Your parents took you to museums and art galleries as you grew up.
34. You were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family.
Absolutely. In fact, I was pretty much unaware of ALL my family's household expenses (and income) growing up. And ironically, it was a disagreement over who was supposed to pay for the heating oil at the parsonage in my last settlement that was at the root of my eventual disillusionment with that congregation, and my decision to seek a new position at a different church instead.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Strange Bookends
Cowardice asks the question, "Is it safe?"
Expediency asks the question, "Is it politic?"
Vanity asks the question, "Is it popular?"
But, conscience asks the question, "Is it right?"
And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but one must take it because one's conscience tells one that it is right. -- Martin Luther King, Jr.
***
Never judge another man until you have walked a mile in his shoes. That way, if he takes exception to your opinion, you've got a mile-long head start, and he's barefoot.... -- Anonymous
Expediency asks the question, "Is it politic?"
Vanity asks the question, "Is it popular?"
But, conscience asks the question, "Is it right?"
And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but one must take it because one's conscience tells one that it is right. -- Martin Luther King, Jr.
***
Never judge another man until you have walked a mile in his shoes. That way, if he takes exception to your opinion, you've got a mile-long head start, and he's barefoot.... -- Anonymous
Friday, January 11, 2008
Wrong AND disliked....
A few months ago (inspired in large degree by a workshop I attended by Marie Fortune on working pastorally with the survivors of domestic abuse) I posted an entry on this blog describing some of my reflections and experiences about having voluntarily censored an even earlier post in which I described some of my experiences transitioning out of the congregation I had previously served in Carlisle, Massachusetts. As part of that second post, there was one paragraph in particular where I recounted in some detail the amount of money I felt accepting that call had cost me over the four years I served there, which included the statement “Finally there's the four years without a raise or a COLA, and the nearly six grand they decided to stiff me by refusing to pay me through the entire three months of the contractual 90 day severance period.”
Not long after that post appeared, I received an e-mail from UUA Settlement Director John Weston offering to help mediate my dispute with my former congregation, with the assistance of UUA Office of Church Staff Finances Director Ralph Mero and Clara Barton District Executive Lynn Thomas. Naturally, I jumped at the offer. Now this group (all of whom I respect deeply) has met, and guess what? I was wrong. Even though everything I had described in that post was factually correct (and to my knowledge, undisputed), apparently because I had already started my new ministry in Portland Maine on August 1st the panel determined that my former congregation was NOT obligated to pay me in full through the entire 90-day severance period stipulated by the Letter of Agreement, as I had thought at the time. Furthermore, my willingness to air all this dirty laundry in a public blog was felt to be manipulative, and “unworthy of our ministry.”
So. Bitter medicine. You can read the entire text of John’s e-mail below (along with the lengthy response I wrote back to him), but first here’s my more concise and less defensive reaction. I didn’t become involved in this line of work thinking it would make me rich, but I did expect to be treated honestly and fairly. Scripture tells us to turn the other cheek and to give anyone who asks for it the shirt off our back, but let’s face it (Walter Wink’s brilliant exegesis of this passage notwithstanding) going through life feeling half naked and constantly slapped around is a helluva way to make a living. Is that really what I’ve signed up for? And if so...well, maybe I really OUGHT to be thinking about finding another line of work.
At the same time, I really love my job (most days); I believe I’m good at it; I believe it has given me some small opportunity to help make the world a better place by my presence in it. I try to take my vocation seriously, and I would never intentionally do anything to bring my sacred and revered profession into disrepute. So knowing that I am perceived that way by colleagues I respect gives me pause, and has caused me to re-examine some of my fundamental assumptions about both my motives and what I am attempting to accomplish in raising these issues, and even doing this work in the first place.
Devoting one’s life to attempting “To Speak the Truth to Power” is a pretty daunting undertaking. Because after all, What is Truth? I would have confidently testified under oath to everything I posted in those earlier blog entries, but who among us really knows “the Whole Truth and Nothing But the Truth?” And there have certainly been other unpleasant consequences to my decision to speak out openly about my experience the way I did, not the least of which are the random, anonymous “poison pen” comments that filter into this blog from time to time. Generally I just delete them, in part just to save the authors the embarrassment of their own words (My favorite was one which began “Are you a morom?”), but mostly I do it because I have absolutely no desire to stir up any more bad feelings than I already have. And of course, it also always amazes me that anyone actually reads this blog at all. I guess I’m not the first blogger to fall victim to THAT little illusion.
In any event, I do feel duly chastened and humbled, if not actually humilated, by this entire experience, and will now be very grateful to be able to put it all behind me. And if you do have something you would like to comment on in this blog, please be willing to sign your real name and have something positive to contribute, rather than simply making threats and calling me vile names.
The e-mail:
Clara Barton District Executive Lynn Thomas, UUA Church Staff Finance Director Ralph Mero, and I met on Monday January 7 to consider the claims that Tim has asserted against Carlisle:
The claims as Tim presented them:
$2364.00 - 27 days cash salary (July 25-Aug 20)
$1075.00 - 16 days Parsonage Allowance (Aug 4-Aug 20)
$1239.30 - Unreimbursed Professional Expenses (basically GA)
$ 990.00 - 27 days pro-rated Pension Contribution
$ 284.20 - UU-GIP insurance premium (July 1-Aug 20)***
We take up the claims in three categories:
1. that Carlisle owed Tim for a full 90 days of salary and housing and pension contribution following his giving notice
2. that Carlisle owed Tim for costs associated with the UUA General Assembly that exceeded his professional expense budget, and
3. that Carlisle owed Tim for utilities costs for the parsonage during his service in Carlisle
1. Tim resigned on May 21, giving, 90 days notice. However, his last day of service in Carlisle cannot have been later than July 31, since he started serving Portland on August 1. According to Carlisle treasurer Mary Hult, Carlisle compensated Tim for the full month of July. She writes:
I am sorry for the confusion on Rev. Tim Jensen's pay for July, 2007. All of our monthly checks say "period ending" somewhere between the 24th and 28th of the month. Largely, that is so the check can be printed by our payroll service and received by our employees by the first of the month. For some people, this has been very important.
Tim was on salary so his annual salary was basically divided into 12 months. Tim's pay stub might have said the 24th but, like all of the checks he received from us, it was for the entire month. His monthly checks for August-June 2007 were rounded up to $2,634 so the last check, for July 2007, was rounded down to $2,626 ($8 less) in order to end with the $31,600 annual salary total.
Thus we see no valid claim for salary and housing. We did not consider the pension and insurance premium issue.
2. We are not able to accept the premise that expenditures exceeding a budgeted amount create indebtedness. The time to address a budget shortfall is before the expenditure is incurred.
3. Attachment B of the agreement between Carlisle and Tim contains the provision that the utilities costs are included in the housing allowance.
Thus we are not able to validate any of your claims, Tim.
That said, I believe that the Carlisle leadership is entitled to know, Tim, that we find your public claims against the congregation to be unworthy of our ministry. Furthermore, the discord between you and the leadership having centered on money for some months if not years, your attempt to maneuver the Transitions Office into settling old scores is similarly unworthy. Given the publicity you have brought to this issue, we believe that you owe, immediately, a post on the Money chat and on your blog withdrawing the assertion of such claims against Carlisle.
Speaking for myself, I owe notice of our take on this issue to the ministers who have indicated interest in Carlisle in this year’s search round, and have started the notification process..
John Weston
My snotty and hot-headed (not really) reply:
Dear John
Having accepted in good faith your offer to mediate this dispute for me, I now feel obligated to honor your decision, although I could not be more disappointed with the result. But having also released this concern to the Universe during our annual First Sunday of the Year "Burning Ritual," I’m also not too inclined to complain much more about it either.
As you request, at my first opportunity I will post the text of your letter with its findings to both to my public blog and the Money-CHAT. I do wish however, simply for the sake of the historical/public record, to reiterate a few of my concerns that do not seem to have been explicitly addressed by your findings.
1) I may just be incredibly thick-headed (or perhaps just the opposite, that too much time in academia has made me hypersensitive to the nuanced subtleties of close analysis), but I still fail to understand the connection between your finding that because I started work here in Portland on August 1st I could not possibly have been serving the Carlisle congregation beyond July 31st, and your decision that this somehow relieves FRS of their contractual obligation to compensate me in full through the entire 90 day severance period stipulated in the Letter of Agreement. I accept your authority to make that determination (about what was really the only issue that mattered); I just don’t understand the logic of it.
The so-called "double-dip" has long been a reality in our movement, and although I certainly don’t have access to the hard data, my anecdotal understanding is that some of the most egregious double-dippers of all are in fact Accredited Interim Ministers, who are routinely paid in full through the month of August even though they have also often at that point already started new assignments somewhere else. From your knowledge, is this true, or have I been misinformed?
And if this is true, do your findings in my situation now obligate you to insist that all those ministers who have "double-dipped" in the past now return that money to the congregations they previously served?
Or to look at it another way, would your decision have been different if I had arbitrarily set my starting date in Portland as August 21st rather than the 1st? And do you honestly believe that FRS would have then happily and willingly paid me in full for the final month of my contract with them, during which I would have ordinarily been on vacation anyway?
2) The issue I raised regarding the professional expense budget and my unreimbursed General Assembly expenses referred specifically to the question of whether or not unreimbursed professional expenses incurred in one fiscal year might be "rolled-over" into the next fiscal year, a practice which had routinely been the policy at FRS until suddenly it wasn't.
As I believe I mentioned in an earlier e-mail to you, this same practice of rolling over expenses to the next fiscal year was the principal reason the 2006-07 professional expense budget came up short in the first place, all of which goes back to the underlying problem that the budget itself never actually met the fair compensation guidelines to begin with, and (like the rest of my compensation package) had not been adjusted the entire time I served there.
But to stick to the topic at hand, this practice of "roll-over" is once again a vestige of the bad old TCM days in which congregations and their ministers typically had a gentleman's agreement to handle professional expense accounts in this manner. The Carlisle congregation has never claimed that my expenses were not legitimate; they simply asserted that since they didn't budget for them, they weren't obligated to reimburse them. Can you imagine the result if the rest of the world adhered to this logic? My argument was that they were indeed contractually obligated to reimburse me for those expenses, whether they had budgeted for them or not, and that even under the old TCM paradigm there was (or should have been) sufficient money to do so in the 2007-08 budget.
3) I honestly can't recall having ever made any formal claims regarding the cost of utilities at the parsonage, unless it was in some way related to my request to be paid in cash 20 days equivalent of the Fair Rental Value of the parsonage (based on their expressed desire that I vacate the parsonage prior to August 20th -- which I accommodated at significant inconvenience and expense to both myself and my new congregation).
I have written elsewhere about my experience regarding the way I believed (and still believe) the parsonage utilities were (mis)handled in my original contract negotiations, and about the treasurer's subsequent unilateral decision to deduct the increased cost of heating oil from my cash salary, rather than absorbing it into the general church operating budget as called for by the compensation guidelines. But I have never asked or expected to be "made whole" in this regard; I simply mentioned it as an example of one of the ways I felt I was unfairly taken advantage of financially by that congregation during my tenure there.
***
The most disappointing aspect of this entire process has come right here at the end, with the easy way you seem to dismiss my legitimate desire to achieve a fair and impartial mediation of my complaints as "an attempt to maneuver the Department of Ministry into settling old scores," and characterize my willingness to raise these concerns in the first place as "unworthy of the ministry."
I am not the one who wrote the UUMA Guidelines, or set the Fair Compensation standards; I merely had the bad manners to mention them in public. I'm not the one who refused outright to meet with the District Compensation Consultant to discuss these issues early on in my ministry in Carlisle, or who declined to raise these sensitive issues with church leaders in a timely fashion because "they aren't ready to hear it," or who initiated any of the other "non-standard" employment practices I factually and accurately described in both earlier e-mails to you, and on rare occasion referenced (in what I believed at the time was an honest and balanced way) in various other public forums. I sincerely wish that a few of my former parishioners had given me a happier tale to tell. But since when is it "unworthy of the ministry" to tell the truth?
I never asked anyone to help me settle old scores; I simply asked for your help in resolving this issue of whether or not 90 days really means 90 days, or if it actually means something else. I do agree that it is unworthy both of our ministry and our movement in general that situations like the one I experienced in Carlisle continue to exist, and that there seems to be no good way of quietly and effectively resolving these disputes absent the good will of all the parties involved. I regret deeply any way that my own growing frustration with that situation may have influenced my ability to minister effectively to the members of that congregation, most of whom I consider wonderful people who certainly deserve the very best that any minister has to give them.
And I likewise hope that my willingness to speak openly about my experience in Carlisle will not dissuade other ministers from exploring a call to serve that congregation. If anything, I hope that bringing these issues out into the open will help head off any future problems similar to the ones I experienced, thus creating a more happy situation for all concerned.
And I will also say this: this entire experience has been extremely unpleasant for me personally, both as I suffered through it in silence and relative isolation at the time, and then later as I suffered the consequences of having spoken openly and candidly about it in public. It's not an experience I would wish on anyone, and certainly not one I would ever wish to experience again myself.
In any event John, as you share your "take" on these issues with other ministers currently in search, I hope you will also see fit to share a few final words to the wise. If something really matters, get it in writing. Well-intended promises and handshake deals aren't worth the paper they're not printed on. Don’t sign anything until you've had it reviewed by an attorney. YOUR attorney. If the Guidelines and the Fair Compensation standards, for example, are important to you, have them written right into the contract; that way, if you should ever (God forbid) feel the need to litigate, they will have the force of law, and not just the moral influence of custom and tradition.
We all would like to believe that our communities of faith aspire (and adhere) to higher, and more generous and compassionate standards of behavior than are typically found in the "real" world. Unfortunately, they often don't. And for what it's worth, the integrity and credibility of our entire movement suffers as a consequence. How does the saying go? -- "injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere?" I freely admit that on the grand scale of things, the tiny injustices done to me in Carlisle are small potatoes, and that perhaps I am a small person for taking them to heart. Now they are behind us, and I have more important things to worry about, as I'm sure you do too. My apologies for having written so long a response; if I'd had more time I would have made it shorter.
In friendship,
Tim
Not long after that post appeared, I received an e-mail from UUA Settlement Director John Weston offering to help mediate my dispute with my former congregation, with the assistance of UUA Office of Church Staff Finances Director Ralph Mero and Clara Barton District Executive Lynn Thomas. Naturally, I jumped at the offer. Now this group (all of whom I respect deeply) has met, and guess what? I was wrong. Even though everything I had described in that post was factually correct (and to my knowledge, undisputed), apparently because I had already started my new ministry in Portland Maine on August 1st the panel determined that my former congregation was NOT obligated to pay me in full through the entire 90-day severance period stipulated by the Letter of Agreement, as I had thought at the time. Furthermore, my willingness to air all this dirty laundry in a public blog was felt to be manipulative, and “unworthy of our ministry.”
So. Bitter medicine. You can read the entire text of John’s e-mail below (along with the lengthy response I wrote back to him), but first here’s my more concise and less defensive reaction. I didn’t become involved in this line of work thinking it would make me rich, but I did expect to be treated honestly and fairly. Scripture tells us to turn the other cheek and to give anyone who asks for it the shirt off our back, but let’s face it (Walter Wink’s brilliant exegesis of this passage notwithstanding) going through life feeling half naked and constantly slapped around is a helluva way to make a living. Is that really what I’ve signed up for? And if so...well, maybe I really OUGHT to be thinking about finding another line of work.
At the same time, I really love my job (most days); I believe I’m good at it; I believe it has given me some small opportunity to help make the world a better place by my presence in it. I try to take my vocation seriously, and I would never intentionally do anything to bring my sacred and revered profession into disrepute. So knowing that I am perceived that way by colleagues I respect gives me pause, and has caused me to re-examine some of my fundamental assumptions about both my motives and what I am attempting to accomplish in raising these issues, and even doing this work in the first place.
Devoting one’s life to attempting “To Speak the Truth to Power” is a pretty daunting undertaking. Because after all, What is Truth? I would have confidently testified under oath to everything I posted in those earlier blog entries, but who among us really knows “the Whole Truth and Nothing But the Truth?” And there have certainly been other unpleasant consequences to my decision to speak out openly about my experience the way I did, not the least of which are the random, anonymous “poison pen” comments that filter into this blog from time to time. Generally I just delete them, in part just to save the authors the embarrassment of their own words (My favorite was one which began “Are you a morom?”), but mostly I do it because I have absolutely no desire to stir up any more bad feelings than I already have. And of course, it also always amazes me that anyone actually reads this blog at all. I guess I’m not the first blogger to fall victim to THAT little illusion.
In any event, I do feel duly chastened and humbled, if not actually humilated, by this entire experience, and will now be very grateful to be able to put it all behind me. And if you do have something you would like to comment on in this blog, please be willing to sign your real name and have something positive to contribute, rather than simply making threats and calling me vile names.
The e-mail:
Clara Barton District Executive Lynn Thomas, UUA Church Staff Finance Director Ralph Mero, and I met on Monday January 7 to consider the claims that Tim has asserted against Carlisle:
The claims as Tim presented them:
$2364.00 - 27 days cash salary (July 25-Aug 20)
$1075.00 - 16 days Parsonage Allowance (Aug 4-Aug 20)
$1239.30 - Unreimbursed Professional Expenses (basically GA)
$ 990.00 - 27 days pro-rated Pension Contribution
$ 284.20 - UU-GIP insurance premium (July 1-Aug 20)***
We take up the claims in three categories:
1. that Carlisle owed Tim for a full 90 days of salary and housing and pension contribution following his giving notice
2. that Carlisle owed Tim for costs associated with the UUA General Assembly that exceeded his professional expense budget, and
3. that Carlisle owed Tim for utilities costs for the parsonage during his service in Carlisle
1. Tim resigned on May 21, giving, 90 days notice. However, his last day of service in Carlisle cannot have been later than July 31, since he started serving Portland on August 1. According to Carlisle treasurer Mary Hult, Carlisle compensated Tim for the full month of July. She writes:
I am sorry for the confusion on Rev. Tim Jensen's pay for July, 2007. All of our monthly checks say "period ending" somewhere between the 24th and 28th of the month. Largely, that is so the check can be printed by our payroll service and received by our employees by the first of the month. For some people, this has been very important.
Tim was on salary so his annual salary was basically divided into 12 months. Tim's pay stub might have said the 24th but, like all of the checks he received from us, it was for the entire month. His monthly checks for August-June 2007 were rounded up to $2,634 so the last check, for July 2007, was rounded down to $2,626 ($8 less) in order to end with the $31,600 annual salary total.
Thus we see no valid claim for salary and housing. We did not consider the pension and insurance premium issue.
2. We are not able to accept the premise that expenditures exceeding a budgeted amount create indebtedness. The time to address a budget shortfall is before the expenditure is incurred.
3. Attachment B of the agreement between Carlisle and Tim contains the provision that the utilities costs are included in the housing allowance.
Thus we are not able to validate any of your claims, Tim.
That said, I believe that the Carlisle leadership is entitled to know, Tim, that we find your public claims against the congregation to be unworthy of our ministry. Furthermore, the discord between you and the leadership having centered on money for some months if not years, your attempt to maneuver the Transitions Office into settling old scores is similarly unworthy. Given the publicity you have brought to this issue, we believe that you owe, immediately, a post on the Money chat and on your blog withdrawing the assertion of such claims against Carlisle.
Speaking for myself, I owe notice of our take on this issue to the ministers who have indicated interest in Carlisle in this year’s search round, and have started the notification process..
John Weston
My snotty and hot-headed (not really) reply:
Dear John
Having accepted in good faith your offer to mediate this dispute for me, I now feel obligated to honor your decision, although I could not be more disappointed with the result. But having also released this concern to the Universe during our annual First Sunday of the Year "Burning Ritual," I’m also not too inclined to complain much more about it either.
As you request, at my first opportunity I will post the text of your letter with its findings to both to my public blog and the Money-CHAT. I do wish however, simply for the sake of the historical/public record, to reiterate a few of my concerns that do not seem to have been explicitly addressed by your findings.
1) I may just be incredibly thick-headed (or perhaps just the opposite, that too much time in academia has made me hypersensitive to the nuanced subtleties of close analysis), but I still fail to understand the connection between your finding that because I started work here in Portland on August 1st I could not possibly have been serving the Carlisle congregation beyond July 31st, and your decision that this somehow relieves FRS of their contractual obligation to compensate me in full through the entire 90 day severance period stipulated in the Letter of Agreement. I accept your authority to make that determination (about what was really the only issue that mattered); I just don’t understand the logic of it.
The so-called "double-dip" has long been a reality in our movement, and although I certainly don’t have access to the hard data, my anecdotal understanding is that some of the most egregious double-dippers of all are in fact Accredited Interim Ministers, who are routinely paid in full through the month of August even though they have also often at that point already started new assignments somewhere else. From your knowledge, is this true, or have I been misinformed?
And if this is true, do your findings in my situation now obligate you to insist that all those ministers who have "double-dipped" in the past now return that money to the congregations they previously served?
Or to look at it another way, would your decision have been different if I had arbitrarily set my starting date in Portland as August 21st rather than the 1st? And do you honestly believe that FRS would have then happily and willingly paid me in full for the final month of my contract with them, during which I would have ordinarily been on vacation anyway?
2) The issue I raised regarding the professional expense budget and my unreimbursed General Assembly expenses referred specifically to the question of whether or not unreimbursed professional expenses incurred in one fiscal year might be "rolled-over" into the next fiscal year, a practice which had routinely been the policy at FRS until suddenly it wasn't.
As I believe I mentioned in an earlier e-mail to you, this same practice of rolling over expenses to the next fiscal year was the principal reason the 2006-07 professional expense budget came up short in the first place, all of which goes back to the underlying problem that the budget itself never actually met the fair compensation guidelines to begin with, and (like the rest of my compensation package) had not been adjusted the entire time I served there.
But to stick to the topic at hand, this practice of "roll-over" is once again a vestige of the bad old TCM days in which congregations and their ministers typically had a gentleman's agreement to handle professional expense accounts in this manner. The Carlisle congregation has never claimed that my expenses were not legitimate; they simply asserted that since they didn't budget for them, they weren't obligated to reimburse them. Can you imagine the result if the rest of the world adhered to this logic? My argument was that they were indeed contractually obligated to reimburse me for those expenses, whether they had budgeted for them or not, and that even under the old TCM paradigm there was (or should have been) sufficient money to do so in the 2007-08 budget.
3) I honestly can't recall having ever made any formal claims regarding the cost of utilities at the parsonage, unless it was in some way related to my request to be paid in cash 20 days equivalent of the Fair Rental Value of the parsonage (based on their expressed desire that I vacate the parsonage prior to August 20th -- which I accommodated at significant inconvenience and expense to both myself and my new congregation).
I have written elsewhere about my experience regarding the way I believed (and still believe) the parsonage utilities were (mis)handled in my original contract negotiations, and about the treasurer's subsequent unilateral decision to deduct the increased cost of heating oil from my cash salary, rather than absorbing it into the general church operating budget as called for by the compensation guidelines. But I have never asked or expected to be "made whole" in this regard; I simply mentioned it as an example of one of the ways I felt I was unfairly taken advantage of financially by that congregation during my tenure there.
***
The most disappointing aspect of this entire process has come right here at the end, with the easy way you seem to dismiss my legitimate desire to achieve a fair and impartial mediation of my complaints as "an attempt to maneuver the Department of Ministry into settling old scores," and characterize my willingness to raise these concerns in the first place as "unworthy of the ministry."
I am not the one who wrote the UUMA Guidelines, or set the Fair Compensation standards; I merely had the bad manners to mention them in public. I'm not the one who refused outright to meet with the District Compensation Consultant to discuss these issues early on in my ministry in Carlisle, or who declined to raise these sensitive issues with church leaders in a timely fashion because "they aren't ready to hear it," or who initiated any of the other "non-standard" employment practices I factually and accurately described in both earlier e-mails to you, and on rare occasion referenced (in what I believed at the time was an honest and balanced way) in various other public forums. I sincerely wish that a few of my former parishioners had given me a happier tale to tell. But since when is it "unworthy of the ministry" to tell the truth?
I never asked anyone to help me settle old scores; I simply asked for your help in resolving this issue of whether or not 90 days really means 90 days, or if it actually means something else. I do agree that it is unworthy both of our ministry and our movement in general that situations like the one I experienced in Carlisle continue to exist, and that there seems to be no good way of quietly and effectively resolving these disputes absent the good will of all the parties involved. I regret deeply any way that my own growing frustration with that situation may have influenced my ability to minister effectively to the members of that congregation, most of whom I consider wonderful people who certainly deserve the very best that any minister has to give them.
And I likewise hope that my willingness to speak openly about my experience in Carlisle will not dissuade other ministers from exploring a call to serve that congregation. If anything, I hope that bringing these issues out into the open will help head off any future problems similar to the ones I experienced, thus creating a more happy situation for all concerned.
And I will also say this: this entire experience has been extremely unpleasant for me personally, both as I suffered through it in silence and relative isolation at the time, and then later as I suffered the consequences of having spoken openly and candidly about it in public. It's not an experience I would wish on anyone, and certainly not one I would ever wish to experience again myself.
In any event John, as you share your "take" on these issues with other ministers currently in search, I hope you will also see fit to share a few final words to the wise. If something really matters, get it in writing. Well-intended promises and handshake deals aren't worth the paper they're not printed on. Don’t sign anything until you've had it reviewed by an attorney. YOUR attorney. If the Guidelines and the Fair Compensation standards, for example, are important to you, have them written right into the contract; that way, if you should ever (God forbid) feel the need to litigate, they will have the force of law, and not just the moral influence of custom and tradition.
We all would like to believe that our communities of faith aspire (and adhere) to higher, and more generous and compassionate standards of behavior than are typically found in the "real" world. Unfortunately, they often don't. And for what it's worth, the integrity and credibility of our entire movement suffers as a consequence. How does the saying go? -- "injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere?" I freely admit that on the grand scale of things, the tiny injustices done to me in Carlisle are small potatoes, and that perhaps I am a small person for taking them to heart. Now they are behind us, and I have more important things to worry about, as I'm sure you do too. My apologies for having written so long a response; if I'd had more time I would have made it shorter.
In friendship,
Tim
Friday, December 28, 2007
N. Hawthorne on Concord MA
"Never was a poor little country village invested with such a variety of queer, strangely dressed, oddly behaved mortals, most of whom took themselves to be important agents of the world's destiny, yet were simply bores of a very intense character."
Can't even remember where I originally saw this, but I jotted it down in my diary at the time, and now I share it with all of you. Enjoy!
Can't even remember where I originally saw this, but I jotted it down in my diary at the time, and now I share it with all of you. Enjoy!
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Some Early Morning Reflections on the Longest (and Darkest) Night of the Year (and Soul)
I've been thinking a bit more about some of the issues I've been ruminating over lately regarding privilege and entitlement, now that I've had a chance to sleep on them a little. Perhaps "afflicting the comfortable" really is just part of the job description of a minister, no matter how uncomfortable it may feel to all concerned. But (to quote a former parishioner) “who comforts the afflicter?” Clergy talk and talk until we are blue in the face about the importance of self-care and spiritual renewal, but when push comes to shove, who among us is truly brave enough to look to our own needs first when our people really need us?
I once believed that Ministry was a profession just like any other profession: grounded in the mastery and practice of a particular body of knowledge and set of skills. But after 25 years, I’ve come to understand that ministry is really about a set of relationships. A relationship with God (or whatever passes for “God” in your particular understanding of Universe), along with a calling to a higher purpose in service of a larger good. A relationship with an institutional organization, and to its historical traditions and values. A relationship with a community of people who have invited you to become their leader, teacher, coach and caregiver; and to individuals within that community, each of whom is continually making up their mind about whether or not they are willing to call you THEIR minister. It is a tremendous privilege to be addressed by the title "Reverend." But it's not a privilege we are entitled to by virtue of education or credential or expertise; rather, it's a title we have to earn again and again every day by being worthy of people's reverence. Which is certainly not a burden to be taken lightly.
Likewise, these relationships can be incredibly fulfilling, and profoundly rewarding in their own right. But like any relationship, they are also often destined to disappoint. Destined perhaps even to break people's hearts (including our own). It’s merely a natural consequence of the fact that nobody’s perfect. I know full well that my people aren't perfect, and that I’m not a perfect minister either. And even if I were, that still doesn’t mean that I’m going to be everyone’s cup of tea. No minister is. But that still doesn’t keep me from being a very good minister (or at least doing the best that I can)... even when I disappoint, or can’t quite live up even to my own expectations for myself.
In his book Put on Your Own Oxygen Mask First, Bill Easum talks about the dangers of a "high mercy gift." UU's are probably more comfortable talking about healthy boundaries, the dangers of co-dependence, and developing "serviceable Ministerial relationships," but I think the issues are pretty much the same. In my own mind, it's about finding the proper balance between "service" and "leadership" in the role of Servant Leader. This may just be my wise cynicism rearing its ugly head again, but I'd venture to guess that an awful lot of conflict between clergy and members of their congregations boils down to different expectations about who is going to lead and who is going to follow, and who expects to be served by whom. And I’m afraid that an awful lot of ministers I know tend to exude an aura of privilege and entitlement when they would really be much better off practicing humility and sacrifice.
But Privilege and Entitlement are not the exclusive property of ordained clergy. Not by a long shot. I’ve also seen way too often with my own two eyes how easily a minister’s willingness to sacrifice and serve humbly is subtly transformed into a kind of humiliating servitude. Not through malice or design. But by the unrealistic and unrelenting expectations of affluent, educated, “successful” people who are accustomed to getting what they want and to having things their own way. They come to church (when they aren’t doing something more important) for their weekly dose of inspiration and “intellectual stimulation,” and leave feeling good about themselves and all that they believe they stand for. But how many of them really practice what we preach? Or am I just naive to believe that this is any different than it should be?
What does it truly mean to be people of faith, serving as leaders in communities of faith, and practicing a particular faith tradition? That word “faith” is often interpreted as “belief without evidence,” but it’s so much more than that. It means confidence. It means trust. In Latin, it is “fidelity” -- a word which we have imported directly into English with nary a varied nuance. When we are unfaithful, and trust is broken, people lose confidence in us -- and it can happen in a heartbeat. Building Trust, on the other hand, often takes a great deal of time and effort and shared experience. Clergy can’t MAKE people trust them, although the role itself these days comes with both a great deal of implicit trust and a great deal of cultural suspicion built-in as standard equipment. The best we can do as individuals is to endeavor always and in all ways to be Trust-Worthy, and hope that those around us will see that for what it is.
And then comes the hardest part of the business of all: learning to trust ourselves. And funny how that phrase works both ways: learning ourselves how to trust others, and learning as well how to trust our own skills, abilities, knowledge, insights, motivations and “faithfulness.” This is where the discipline of learning how to give ourselves over to something larger than ourselves comes into play. And it isn’t easy. But who ever said that anything in life that is truly worthwhile is ever easy?
I once believed that Ministry was a profession just like any other profession: grounded in the mastery and practice of a particular body of knowledge and set of skills. But after 25 years, I’ve come to understand that ministry is really about a set of relationships. A relationship with God (or whatever passes for “God” in your particular understanding of Universe), along with a calling to a higher purpose in service of a larger good. A relationship with an institutional organization, and to its historical traditions and values. A relationship with a community of people who have invited you to become their leader, teacher, coach and caregiver; and to individuals within that community, each of whom is continually making up their mind about whether or not they are willing to call you THEIR minister. It is a tremendous privilege to be addressed by the title "Reverend." But it's not a privilege we are entitled to by virtue of education or credential or expertise; rather, it's a title we have to earn again and again every day by being worthy of people's reverence. Which is certainly not a burden to be taken lightly.
Likewise, these relationships can be incredibly fulfilling, and profoundly rewarding in their own right. But like any relationship, they are also often destined to disappoint. Destined perhaps even to break people's hearts (including our own). It’s merely a natural consequence of the fact that nobody’s perfect. I know full well that my people aren't perfect, and that I’m not a perfect minister either. And even if I were, that still doesn’t mean that I’m going to be everyone’s cup of tea. No minister is. But that still doesn’t keep me from being a very good minister (or at least doing the best that I can)... even when I disappoint, or can’t quite live up even to my own expectations for myself.
In his book Put on Your Own Oxygen Mask First, Bill Easum talks about the dangers of a "high mercy gift." UU's are probably more comfortable talking about healthy boundaries, the dangers of co-dependence, and developing "serviceable Ministerial relationships," but I think the issues are pretty much the same. In my own mind, it's about finding the proper balance between "service" and "leadership" in the role of Servant Leader. This may just be my wise cynicism rearing its ugly head again, but I'd venture to guess that an awful lot of conflict between clergy and members of their congregations boils down to different expectations about who is going to lead and who is going to follow, and who expects to be served by whom. And I’m afraid that an awful lot of ministers I know tend to exude an aura of privilege and entitlement when they would really be much better off practicing humility and sacrifice.
But Privilege and Entitlement are not the exclusive property of ordained clergy. Not by a long shot. I’ve also seen way too often with my own two eyes how easily a minister’s willingness to sacrifice and serve humbly is subtly transformed into a kind of humiliating servitude. Not through malice or design. But by the unrealistic and unrelenting expectations of affluent, educated, “successful” people who are accustomed to getting what they want and to having things their own way. They come to church (when they aren’t doing something more important) for their weekly dose of inspiration and “intellectual stimulation,” and leave feeling good about themselves and all that they believe they stand for. But how many of them really practice what we preach? Or am I just naive to believe that this is any different than it should be?
What does it truly mean to be people of faith, serving as leaders in communities of faith, and practicing a particular faith tradition? That word “faith” is often interpreted as “belief without evidence,” but it’s so much more than that. It means confidence. It means trust. In Latin, it is “fidelity” -- a word which we have imported directly into English with nary a varied nuance. When we are unfaithful, and trust is broken, people lose confidence in us -- and it can happen in a heartbeat. Building Trust, on the other hand, often takes a great deal of time and effort and shared experience. Clergy can’t MAKE people trust them, although the role itself these days comes with both a great deal of implicit trust and a great deal of cultural suspicion built-in as standard equipment. The best we can do as individuals is to endeavor always and in all ways to be Trust-Worthy, and hope that those around us will see that for what it is.
And then comes the hardest part of the business of all: learning to trust ourselves. And funny how that phrase works both ways: learning ourselves how to trust others, and learning as well how to trust our own skills, abilities, knowledge, insights, motivations and “faithfulness.” This is where the discipline of learning how to give ourselves over to something larger than ourselves comes into play. And it isn’t easy. But who ever said that anything in life that is truly worthwhile is ever easy?
Thursday, December 20, 2007
That's just the Cross-Eyed Bear...
One of the challenges I've been wrestling with recently, both in my ministry and my own spiritual practice, is moving beyond the “wise cynicism” I’ve developed in more than a quarter-century of this strange and wonderfully frustrating work, so that I might somehow reconnect with the optimism, idealism and passionate enthusiasm which originally called me to this vocation in my youth.
Over the years I’ve managed to develop a pretty thick skin, and (at times, at least) a pretty jaded attitude. I’ve learned the hard way that “no good deed goes unpunished,” and how to remain so “non-anxious” and “non-reactive,” “non-defensive” and “self-differentiated” that people sometimes wonder whether I’m even paying attention. I’ve learned how to take criticism seriously without taking it personally, and that there are lots of things, both in life and at church, that I just can’t fix no matter how hard I try, and am better off simply learning how to live with and accept. I no longer harbor a lot of illusions about the true nature of my work. And yet in the midst of this "disillusionment," I sometimes find the work itself more and more difficult to do “in good faith.”
For example, I have become SO tired of feeling like I have to harangue, cajole, browbeat or shame basically good and decent people into doing the right thing simply because they are too stubborn, lazy, self-satisfied, comfortable and content to do the right thing on their own. This was basically the problem with my last congregation, and it was unpleasant for everyone concerned. And yet, for a lot of people, this is precisely what preachers are SUPPOSED to do, which is also, I suspect, the reason so many of them stay away from church in droves -- because they find the experience “too preachy.” Let’s face it, nobody really LIKES being preached to. Much less being preached at.
Likewise, one of the most difficult conundrums facing any leader is determining how quickly to try to move people forward. No matter what pace you choose to set, there are always going to be some folks who feel you’re going too fast, and others who feel like you’re not going fast enough. Getting everyone lined up, facing in roughly the same direction, and moving along the same path at approximately the same speed (more often than not when they aren’t even looking at the same page of the guidebook) can feel like an impossible chore. Is it best to try to lead from the front, holding high your shepherd’s staff while setting a brisk pace in the hope that the others will keep up on the journey to greener pastures? Or is one better off herding from behind, barking and nipping at the heels of the stragglers while keeping a wary eye open for the wolves in sheep’s clothing?
I know it’s a stereotype, but at least more "traditional" preachers had both a big carrot and an even bigger stick. Do the right thing, and you’ll be going to heaven; do something different, and you can go somewhere else. More recently, proponants of the so-called “prosperity gospel” have added promises of worldly wealth, success, health and happiness to the menu of pie in the sky when you die. It may seem a little hard for some of us to swallow, but a lot of folks are apparently gobbling it up with a spoon. Indeed, the traditional metaphor of "the shepherd and their flock" implicitly reinforces these stereotypes. "Sheep" who are incapable of thinking for themselves need a strong and decisive Pastor to tell them what to believe.
But if anything (at least in my experience) the typical members of UU congregations more closely resemble goats: frisky, nimble, curious, aggressive, highly independent, natural escape artists, and willing to swallow just about anything they can get their mouths around if given an opportunity. Yet even a herd of highly-heretical goats occasionally requires the services of a faithful goatherd:to keep them safe from predators, and properly groomed and fed; to track them down when they get loose and become lost or hurt; and ESPECIALLY to keep them from running amok in the neighbor's garden...which is (as you will well know if you've ever kept REAL goats yourself) their absolutely favorite activity of all, but doesn't really do much to improve relations with the neighbors. And even though you're doing it for their own good, even goats generally resent being led on a leash back to the goatshed, when they could be running free.
But getting back to the subject at hand, I understand perfectly well the importance of expressing a positive attitude and creating a positive message: that you “catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar,” and how important it is to give basically good people a good reputation to live up to. I know that internal motivation is a more powerful incentive than external pressure, and that it is better to inspire than to scold. What I DON’T really understand is why I find it so difficult at times to inspire myself, and why I have come to expect so little, and yet so much, from this “divine profession” to which I have devoted my entire adult life.
Over the years I’ve managed to develop a pretty thick skin, and (at times, at least) a pretty jaded attitude. I’ve learned the hard way that “no good deed goes unpunished,” and how to remain so “non-anxious” and “non-reactive,” “non-defensive” and “self-differentiated” that people sometimes wonder whether I’m even paying attention. I’ve learned how to take criticism seriously without taking it personally, and that there are lots of things, both in life and at church, that I just can’t fix no matter how hard I try, and am better off simply learning how to live with and accept. I no longer harbor a lot of illusions about the true nature of my work. And yet in the midst of this "disillusionment," I sometimes find the work itself more and more difficult to do “in good faith.”
For example, I have become SO tired of feeling like I have to harangue, cajole, browbeat or shame basically good and decent people into doing the right thing simply because they are too stubborn, lazy, self-satisfied, comfortable and content to do the right thing on their own. This was basically the problem with my last congregation, and it was unpleasant for everyone concerned. And yet, for a lot of people, this is precisely what preachers are SUPPOSED to do, which is also, I suspect, the reason so many of them stay away from church in droves -- because they find the experience “too preachy.” Let’s face it, nobody really LIKES being preached to. Much less being preached at.
Likewise, one of the most difficult conundrums facing any leader is determining how quickly to try to move people forward. No matter what pace you choose to set, there are always going to be some folks who feel you’re going too fast, and others who feel like you’re not going fast enough. Getting everyone lined up, facing in roughly the same direction, and moving along the same path at approximately the same speed (more often than not when they aren’t even looking at the same page of the guidebook) can feel like an impossible chore. Is it best to try to lead from the front, holding high your shepherd’s staff while setting a brisk pace in the hope that the others will keep up on the journey to greener pastures? Or is one better off herding from behind, barking and nipping at the heels of the stragglers while keeping a wary eye open for the wolves in sheep’s clothing?
I know it’s a stereotype, but at least more "traditional" preachers had both a big carrot and an even bigger stick. Do the right thing, and you’ll be going to heaven; do something different, and you can go somewhere else. More recently, proponants of the so-called “prosperity gospel” have added promises of worldly wealth, success, health and happiness to the menu of pie in the sky when you die. It may seem a little hard for some of us to swallow, but a lot of folks are apparently gobbling it up with a spoon. Indeed, the traditional metaphor of "the shepherd and their flock" implicitly reinforces these stereotypes. "Sheep" who are incapable of thinking for themselves need a strong and decisive Pastor to tell them what to believe.
But if anything (at least in my experience) the typical members of UU congregations more closely resemble goats: frisky, nimble, curious, aggressive, highly independent, natural escape artists, and willing to swallow just about anything they can get their mouths around if given an opportunity. Yet even a herd of highly-heretical goats occasionally requires the services of a faithful goatherd:to keep them safe from predators, and properly groomed and fed; to track them down when they get loose and become lost or hurt; and ESPECIALLY to keep them from running amok in the neighbor's garden...which is (as you will well know if you've ever kept REAL goats yourself) their absolutely favorite activity of all, but doesn't really do much to improve relations with the neighbors. And even though you're doing it for their own good, even goats generally resent being led on a leash back to the goatshed, when they could be running free.
But getting back to the subject at hand, I understand perfectly well the importance of expressing a positive attitude and creating a positive message: that you “catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar,” and how important it is to give basically good people a good reputation to live up to. I know that internal motivation is a more powerful incentive than external pressure, and that it is better to inspire than to scold. What I DON’T really understand is why I find it so difficult at times to inspire myself, and why I have come to expect so little, and yet so much, from this “divine profession” to which I have devoted my entire adult life.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
In Praise of Dyslexia
A soon-to-be-published study by Cass Business School professor Julie Logan reports that 35% of successful American entrepeneurs exhibit signs of dyslexia. "The broader implication" according to the article, "is that many of the coping skills dyslexics learn in their formative years become best practices for the successful entrepreneur. Children who chronically fail standardized tests must become comfortable with failure. Slow readers learn to extract only vital information, so that they're constantly getting right to the point. Dyslexics are also forced to trust and rely on others to get things done -- an essential skill for anyone working to build a business."
If true, this is a fascinating illustration of the concept of "different abilities," as well as the notion that many so-called "disorders" are socially constructed (which is to say, that society finds certain behaviors disorderly, rather than there being anything inherently wrong with the person).
Of course, this also reminds me of all the speculation early in his administration that our President is dyslexic, which explains both his mother's interest in literacy, and his own routine butchering of the English language.
Then again, he could just be stupid. I also seem to recall him saying that the underlying problem with the French economy is that they don't even have a word for "entrepeneur."
But I think the main lesson I take away from all this is the distinction between intrinsic ability and hard work. Sure it's nice to be gifted and talented, or to possess "natural" abilities of above-average whatever. But it's persistence and hard work that always seem to make the real difference between success and failure. No matter how smart you are, there is always someone smarter...and everyone you meet knows something that you don't.
It doesn't matter how big or strong or fast or even beautiful you may be either...there is always someone bigger, and stronger, faster and more beautiful.
And luck? Everyone knows that hard workers make their own luck.
Here's another interesting article from Scientific American about the Secret to Raising Smart Kids. Guess what the secret is? Don't tell them they're smart. Tell them that effort is more important than ability, and to find confidence in their ability to weather failure rather than easily achieve success.
So next time you're feeling down and discouraged, take strength from your disappointment and remember that anything worth doing is worth doing badly...at first. But if you just stick with it, things will indeed get better. And so will you.
If true, this is a fascinating illustration of the concept of "different abilities," as well as the notion that many so-called "disorders" are socially constructed (which is to say, that society finds certain behaviors disorderly, rather than there being anything inherently wrong with the person).
Of course, this also reminds me of all the speculation early in his administration that our President is dyslexic, which explains both his mother's interest in literacy, and his own routine butchering of the English language.
Then again, he could just be stupid. I also seem to recall him saying that the underlying problem with the French economy is that they don't even have a word for "entrepeneur."
But I think the main lesson I take away from all this is the distinction between intrinsic ability and hard work. Sure it's nice to be gifted and talented, or to possess "natural" abilities of above-average whatever. But it's persistence and hard work that always seem to make the real difference between success and failure. No matter how smart you are, there is always someone smarter...and everyone you meet knows something that you don't.
It doesn't matter how big or strong or fast or even beautiful you may be either...there is always someone bigger, and stronger, faster and more beautiful.
And luck? Everyone knows that hard workers make their own luck.
Here's another interesting article from Scientific American about the Secret to Raising Smart Kids. Guess what the secret is? Don't tell them they're smart. Tell them that effort is more important than ability, and to find confidence in their ability to weather failure rather than easily achieve success.
So next time you're feeling down and discouraged, take strength from your disappointment and remember that anything worth doing is worth doing badly...at first. But if you just stick with it, things will indeed get better. And so will you.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Auto-blog II -- My New Focus
I notice with some amusement that my colleague from Portland OR, Marilyn Sewell, is also blogging about her new car, after her faithful old Honda was first stolen out of her driveway, and then missing for a month (during which time she replaced it with a used Volvo), only to later have the Honda recovered by the police. By that time, of course, the Honda had been stripped of anything valuable (which did not, apparently, include her CDs), and Marilyn had fallen head over heels in love with her new Swedish ride anyway, so the Japanese import was released into the custody of the Insurance company, who will no doubt find it a good home.
My story isn't nearly so dramatic as Marilyn's. Having made the decision to replace my 10-year-old Ranger pick-up with a smaller, more fuel-efficient and city-friendly (i.e. easy to park) vehicle, rather than paying $2500 to have the four-wheel-drive repaired and the rest of the vehicle brought up to where it would pass inspection, I basically only considered three options: the Escape Hybrid (because someone told me that I ought to buy a hybrid), the Subaru Outback wagon (which is a very popular car in my neighborhood, and also I've noticed among Unitarian ministers in general), and the Focus (which is the model Ford created to replace the Escort, and, as you have no doubt already inferred from the title, is the vehicle I eventually bought).
I'm not really certain how I became such a loyal Ford customer, but since this is my third one in a row now (and I've basicly driven nothing else for 15 years) I guess I qualify. Bought the original Escort wagon in part because we realized that we could buy two Escorts for the price of one Outback; and the fact that I drove it for nearly a quarter of a million miles before it finally gave up the ghost (in protest, I think, over having to leave its home in the Pacific Northwest) certainly did a lot to cement my loyalty to the product. The Ranger was not such a bad ride either, and my appreciation for that vehicle was reinforced early on by the fact that the only car dealership on Nantucket sold and serviced Fords, which pretty much gave them a Mircosoft-like competitive advantage when it came to selling to and servicing Island residents.
When I eventually moved back to "America," to an affluent little faux-rural New England town just over the river and through the woods from Walden Pond, my dirty, dented, decade-old pick-up made a nice contrast to the Escapes, Priuses, Saubs, Subarus, and BMWs I generally saw all around me...not to mention all the various SUVs and Mini-vans (of every make and model) and more Hummers per captia than anywhere else in the Commonwealth (although none, I don't think, were owned my members of the congregation). And since it was a fifteen minute drive in any direction just to get gas or groceries, I ended up spending a lot more time in that car than I would have chosen to otherwise.
But here in Portland ME it's a very different landscape. Although I live a half-mile from church (as opposed to only 40 yards in Carlisle, and maybe 40 feet on Nantucket), just about everything I could ever want or need is within easy walking distance of my apartment, and public transportation is readily available. Still, as a minister, I feel compelled to keep a car in the city, even though on some levels at least I would be delighted not to have to. My Aunt in Seattle has lived without a car in that city ever since she returned from the Peace Corps in the mid-1960's -- 40 years during which she has also traveled all over the world (including India and Pakistan, South America, and widely in Europe and Africa)using only public transportation, a bicycle, and her own two feet. She doesn't even like to RIDE in cars if she can avoid it. And I admire her independence in doing so.
But it's different being a minister. Even when gasoline and rubber were being strictly rationed during the Second World War, clergy and physicians received priority status, since society recognized that they needed those resources in order to accomplish their jobs. Nowadays MDs rarely make housecalls, the status of ministers is somewhat less exhalted, and if anything our society is more car-dependent than ever. But the importance of "auto-mobility" to the work of ministry is essentially unchanged; we travel at odd and unpredictable hours, are often needed in a hurry, even more often need to be two places at the same time, and are even at times required to provide transportation for others who cannot transport themselves.
Yet at the same time, the style of automobile a minister selects suggests an awful lot about their theology, and needs to be undertaken with great discernment. If I'm going to be making my parish visits in a Mercedes, a BMW, or a Porsche...it had better be AT LEAST a decade old, and preferably a vehicle that actually belongs to (or perhaps was bought by and handed down from) my extremely successful attorney/physician/corporate executive partner. Foreign compacts (like the Subaru or Marilyn's Honda) are generally good, while American cars (it seems to me, at least) are a little more of a mixed bag -- it's nice to buy domestic and support the jobs of unionized American Auto Workers, but is what's good for General Motors REALLY what's good for the country anymore?
Likewise, my heart may long for a little red convertible, but my brain tells me I'm a lot better off picking a sensible blue or green or white or gray sedan or compact wagon. Or maybe a small SUV or Mini-van...expecially if I have young children in the household. And if I REALLY want to make a statement, then I'll get a hybrid...assuming I can afford it. But God forbid that I should ever find myself behind the wheel of a Hummer...unless I'm accompanying a National Guard unit to the location of a natural disaster.
And so it came to pass that armed with this set of sensibilities, I set out in search of a new car to replace the Ranger. Ruled out the Hybrid Escape on grounds of cost, as well as the realization that both the Subaru and the Focus got just as good gas mileage with conventional technology. Flirted with the Subaru...and if I'd been willing to make the effort I probably could have found a good, low-mileage used Subaru wagon for only a few thousand more than I ended up paying for my Ford. But people who own these wagons tend to like them so well that they hold on to them for a long time, and besides, the Ford dealership is a lot closer to my home, and I already had a good relationship with them based on the work they'd already done on my truck. So that's where I started, and that's where I ended up...mostly because I didn't want to have to put any more time into this entire process than I absolutely had to anyway.
So I zeroed in on a Focus, and then began the even more complicated process of finding MY particular Focus out of all the possible Foci (or maybe in this case, it really is "Focuses") potentially available to me. And the reason this turned out to be more complicated than I'd thought is because I made it so. My first thought was that I would go with some sort of used "program" car -- a former rental a year or two old, which can generally be picked up for about two-thirds the price of a comparable new car. But those cars all come with automatic transmissions, and I'd decided that I really did want a standard five speed manual shift again, as well as cruise control if I could get it (since I'd also enjoyed that option on my previous two Fords, and have grown rather accustomed to it). And then (and this really was my one true concession to having turned fifty) I really wanted to have a moonroof if they could find one, just so I could still potentially open up the top and feel the wind blow through what's left of my hair on a sunny summer day once in awhile. But to compensate for that indulgence, I also insisted that there be no spoilers or flashy trim, and that the car could be any color but red.
The bad news was that there was only one vehicle with that particular configuration of equipment anywhere in New England. The good news was that it belonged to the dealership only five miles across town. Then we learned that it wouldn't arrive on the lot for another week. Then came the blizzard, which delayed things even more. By this time I was already starting to rethink my decision about buying a new car at all -- $2500 bucks to keep the Ranger on the road through another winter was looking like a pretty good idea after all. But my dad, bless his heart, came through with some very sensible fatherly advice: you tend to keep these cars a long time Tim, (he told me), and you can afford to buy the car you want -- so bite the bullet, spend the money, get the car and ENJOY IT! for a long, long time.
So that's what I did. Even so, after fifteen years without a car payment, the sticker shock was pretty intense. Doubled the cost of my insurance, and the state excise tax alone is a dollar a day. Add in the payments and the cost of off-street parking, and I'm into this alligator nearly five hundred dollars a month before I've bought a single drop of three dollar a gallon gasoline. All told, I'm estimating that the "privilege" of owning and operating my own vehicle is going to cost me about 12% of my annual gross income. Thats a helluva lot of cab rides, frankly. And if I lived in a community where flex-cars were available, I think I'd be looking awfully hard at signing up.
But then there's the clergy thing. Suburban nursing homes, evening potlucks and circle suppers, hospital visits, ministers meetings...a car may not be an absolute necessity, but it sure does make things easier and more convenient. Although let's not forget the greatest irony of all. Now that I've actually purchased this beautiful new car, I'm afraid to drive it in the snow...and so mostly I try to leave it parked in the garage, and walk everywhere I can anyway. So we'll see. Maybe by this time next year, somebody out there will get a great deal on a low-mileage, high MPG standard shift, cruise-control equipped Clerical Black Ford Focus sedan with a moonroof. Or maybe by then I will have simply gotten over all this automobile angst, and will be loving my new ride....
Monday, December 10, 2007
Auto-blog I - Remembrance of Rides Past
So it finally happened. Rather than waiting for my '97 Ranger to take things into its own hands, last week I broke down and bought myself a new vehicle. This is actually the first new car I've owned in 15 years, and only the third I've owned in my entire lifetime of driving. And while I've started to give myself permission to feel happy about owning a new car (which is, after all, supposed to be a happy occasion), I'm also feeling a little funny about it...which is really what I want to write about.
But first a little history. My very first car was a hand-me-down 1962 red Plymouth Valiant station wagon (with a push-button automatic transmission)that had belonged to my mother for a dozen years before I finally got my hands on it. Picked up three tickets and was involved in three accidents with that little beauty, the last of which finally killed it outright on a sharp curve on a steep hill on a rainy day in a suburb of Seattle about two weeks before I started college at the University of Washington.
But by that time I already had another ride: an even redder 1968 Triumph TR-250 convertible which my father had bought for me as a reward/bribe in order to get me to study a little harder so that I could get into a decent college in the first place. It's funny how quickly a basically bright but lazy kid can become a straight-A student when there's a sports car as incentive, and although my father complained miserably about that little two-seater roadster, I suspect in retrospect he would say it was the best $2,000 he's ever spent in his life.
And it did double duty; because once I actually started college my younger brother got to drive the TR, and I didn't get back behind the wheel until the start of my Junior year, when HE was a freshman living in the next dorm over, and I could finally afford to insure the thing myself. But of course he kept a duplicate set of keys, and more than once I stopped by my parking space only to discover nothing but an oilspot waiting for me. But at least he always had the decency to return it with a full tank of gas!
When I went off to HDS for graduate school (at the start of his Junior year), the TR once more came into my brother's keeping, and eventually passed from our lives on his watch. I lived quite contentedly carless in Cambridge and Boston, and remained car-free until the start of my internship back in Seattle, where I spent $300 for a 1974 lemon yellow Volkswagen Dasher. That car burned about a quart of oil for every tank of gas, but it got me everywhere I needed to go for a year an a half, before finally perishing in a snowstorm 10 days before I was scheduled to begin my first settled ministry in Midland, Texas.
It was in Midland that I purchased my first-ever new car: a 1985 Toyota Corolla. Of course, being from the Pacific Northwest, I didn't really appreciate how few and far between Toyotas were in Texas in those days; my "new" Toyota was actually delivered to me from a dealership in New Orleans, with 800 miles already on the odometer. I didn't care; I drove that car for eight years (including back and forth between Texas and Seattle three times), while my wife went through four different vehicles in that same period (a used GMC Hornet-which was her vehicle of choice before we were married; a new Ford Escort; a new Dodge Omni; and a slightly-used Dodge Shadow, which she came home with one day after taking the Omni to the dealership to have a headlight replaced, and discovering that she could actually save nearly $100/month if she simply traded it in and bought the Shadow instead).
In 1993 my wife had just finished Law School, and I was about to start back to school myself to study for a PhD. She had a good job, we had come into some money, and so we paid cash and treated ourselves to his and hers Ford Escorts: a little red coupe for her, and a forest green wagon for me. I put 237k miles on that car in the eight years I drove it, commuting back and forth between Portland, Corvallis, and Eugene...as well as all up and down the I-5 corridor from Bellingham to Roseburg preaching on the weekends (just for the record, in that same eight-year period she only put 42k miles on the coupe).
In the summer of 2001, I'd completed my PhD and was about to begin an interim ministry on Nantucket Island. What to do about a car on the island was a frequent topic of discussion among my family. At first I thought I might be able to get by without a car, but I was assured that this would not be the case -- that even on an island, a minister still needs to be able to make those parish visits out to 'Sconset; and in winter there are no buses and bicycles are a little problematic. Then I thought I might swap cars with my daughter, who was then living in Massachusetts but planning to return to Oregon in the fall. But she refused to take the Escort under any circumstances. Finally, when the folks on Nantucket also assured me that the island was an excellent place to have an old car (since when it DOES finally break down, you don't have that far to walk home), I decided to try my luck and try to drive my trusty wagon cross-country.
In retrospect, having lived so much of my life behind the wheel of that vehicle for the previous eight years, I had a lot of emotional investment in getting my CLERIC car to a nice round quarter of a million miles before allowing her to retire gracefully on Nantucket. Meanwhile, my family started a pool about how far backwards along the Oregon Trail I would make it before the car finally expired permanently. The winning bet was that I would never make it out of the state; climbing the Blue Mountains on I-84 I suddenly lost 5th gear, and so I coasted down into Baker City and within four hours had traded in my Escort for a used, 1997 white Ford Ranger X-cab 4x4 pickup.
Unpacked the Escort, repacked the Ranger, settled the dog safely into the passenger seat, and we were back on the road again. Drove that truck for two years on the Island, and another four in Carlisle...and learned to love the four-wheel drive and the big cargo space, but never really did get used to the poor gas mileage (19 mpg), or how tricky it was to park in tight places. Big blind spot too, especially trying to glance back over my right shoulder through both a tinted rear window and the canopy. Put a big dent in the passenger door my first day on the Island, trying to squeeze into my driveway past an inconveniently-located telephone pole; and over the years picked up a few more dents and dings as well...but for some reason it didn't really bother me, because, after all, isn't that what trucks are for?
That Ranger also came in awfully useful moving up here to Portland, and I'm sure I could have happily driven it for many more years, since it only had 134k miles on it and still seemed to be going strong. But I also noticed last winter that it was making funny noises when I put it into four-wheel drive, so last month when I took it into the dealership to have it serviced and winterized, I asked them to take a look. Sure enough, I needed new hubs and a U-joint, plus brake work, a new thermostat, as well as an aftermarket brakelight kit to bring the canopy into confomity with Maine law...$2500 worth of work (which the service manager quickly offered to discount 10% on account of me being clergy).
And I was almost ready to get that work done, when while driving back down to Massachusetts on the day after Thanksgiving I suddenly remembered that burnt-out headlight on the Dodge Omni. Why, I asked, should I sink another $2500 into a beat-up ten-year-old gas-guzzling clunker when I could be driving a new, compact, fuel-efficient 21st-century automobile instead? It just didn't make sense to me. Or perhaps I should say, all of a sudden I just didn't feel like nursing along my old truck from one mechanical crisis to the next, and started looking forward to owning something with a standard 3 year/36k mile bumper to bumper warranty, free road side assistance, passenger-side airbags, and all the rest.
And so the search began. To be continued in part two....
But first a little history. My very first car was a hand-me-down 1962 red Plymouth Valiant station wagon (with a push-button automatic transmission)that had belonged to my mother for a dozen years before I finally got my hands on it. Picked up three tickets and was involved in three accidents with that little beauty, the last of which finally killed it outright on a sharp curve on a steep hill on a rainy day in a suburb of Seattle about two weeks before I started college at the University of Washington.
But by that time I already had another ride: an even redder 1968 Triumph TR-250 convertible which my father had bought for me as a reward/bribe in order to get me to study a little harder so that I could get into a decent college in the first place. It's funny how quickly a basically bright but lazy kid can become a straight-A student when there's a sports car as incentive, and although my father complained miserably about that little two-seater roadster, I suspect in retrospect he would say it was the best $2,000 he's ever spent in his life.
And it did double duty; because once I actually started college my younger brother got to drive the TR, and I didn't get back behind the wheel until the start of my Junior year, when HE was a freshman living in the next dorm over, and I could finally afford to insure the thing myself. But of course he kept a duplicate set of keys, and more than once I stopped by my parking space only to discover nothing but an oilspot waiting for me. But at least he always had the decency to return it with a full tank of gas!
When I went off to HDS for graduate school (at the start of his Junior year), the TR once more came into my brother's keeping, and eventually passed from our lives on his watch. I lived quite contentedly carless in Cambridge and Boston, and remained car-free until the start of my internship back in Seattle, where I spent $300 for a 1974 lemon yellow Volkswagen Dasher. That car burned about a quart of oil for every tank of gas, but it got me everywhere I needed to go for a year an a half, before finally perishing in a snowstorm 10 days before I was scheduled to begin my first settled ministry in Midland, Texas.
It was in Midland that I purchased my first-ever new car: a 1985 Toyota Corolla. Of course, being from the Pacific Northwest, I didn't really appreciate how few and far between Toyotas were in Texas in those days; my "new" Toyota was actually delivered to me from a dealership in New Orleans, with 800 miles already on the odometer. I didn't care; I drove that car for eight years (including back and forth between Texas and Seattle three times), while my wife went through four different vehicles in that same period (a used GMC Hornet-which was her vehicle of choice before we were married; a new Ford Escort; a new Dodge Omni; and a slightly-used Dodge Shadow, which she came home with one day after taking the Omni to the dealership to have a headlight replaced, and discovering that she could actually save nearly $100/month if she simply traded it in and bought the Shadow instead).
In 1993 my wife had just finished Law School, and I was about to start back to school myself to study for a PhD. She had a good job, we had come into some money, and so we paid cash and treated ourselves to his and hers Ford Escorts: a little red coupe for her, and a forest green wagon for me. I put 237k miles on that car in the eight years I drove it, commuting back and forth between Portland, Corvallis, and Eugene...as well as all up and down the I-5 corridor from Bellingham to Roseburg preaching on the weekends (just for the record, in that same eight-year period she only put 42k miles on the coupe).
In the summer of 2001, I'd completed my PhD and was about to begin an interim ministry on Nantucket Island. What to do about a car on the island was a frequent topic of discussion among my family. At first I thought I might be able to get by without a car, but I was assured that this would not be the case -- that even on an island, a minister still needs to be able to make those parish visits out to 'Sconset; and in winter there are no buses and bicycles are a little problematic. Then I thought I might swap cars with my daughter, who was then living in Massachusetts but planning to return to Oregon in the fall. But she refused to take the Escort under any circumstances. Finally, when the folks on Nantucket also assured me that the island was an excellent place to have an old car (since when it DOES finally break down, you don't have that far to walk home), I decided to try my luck and try to drive my trusty wagon cross-country.
In retrospect, having lived so much of my life behind the wheel of that vehicle for the previous eight years, I had a lot of emotional investment in getting my CLERIC car to a nice round quarter of a million miles before allowing her to retire gracefully on Nantucket. Meanwhile, my family started a pool about how far backwards along the Oregon Trail I would make it before the car finally expired permanently. The winning bet was that I would never make it out of the state; climbing the Blue Mountains on I-84 I suddenly lost 5th gear, and so I coasted down into Baker City and within four hours had traded in my Escort for a used, 1997 white Ford Ranger X-cab 4x4 pickup.
Unpacked the Escort, repacked the Ranger, settled the dog safely into the passenger seat, and we were back on the road again. Drove that truck for two years on the Island, and another four in Carlisle...and learned to love the four-wheel drive and the big cargo space, but never really did get used to the poor gas mileage (19 mpg), or how tricky it was to park in tight places. Big blind spot too, especially trying to glance back over my right shoulder through both a tinted rear window and the canopy. Put a big dent in the passenger door my first day on the Island, trying to squeeze into my driveway past an inconveniently-located telephone pole; and over the years picked up a few more dents and dings as well...but for some reason it didn't really bother me, because, after all, isn't that what trucks are for?
That Ranger also came in awfully useful moving up here to Portland, and I'm sure I could have happily driven it for many more years, since it only had 134k miles on it and still seemed to be going strong. But I also noticed last winter that it was making funny noises when I put it into four-wheel drive, so last month when I took it into the dealership to have it serviced and winterized, I asked them to take a look. Sure enough, I needed new hubs and a U-joint, plus brake work, a new thermostat, as well as an aftermarket brakelight kit to bring the canopy into confomity with Maine law...$2500 worth of work (which the service manager quickly offered to discount 10% on account of me being clergy).
And I was almost ready to get that work done, when while driving back down to Massachusetts on the day after Thanksgiving I suddenly remembered that burnt-out headlight on the Dodge Omni. Why, I asked, should I sink another $2500 into a beat-up ten-year-old gas-guzzling clunker when I could be driving a new, compact, fuel-efficient 21st-century automobile instead? It just didn't make sense to me. Or perhaps I should say, all of a sudden I just didn't feel like nursing along my old truck from one mechanical crisis to the next, and started looking forward to owning something with a standard 3 year/36k mile bumper to bumper warranty, free road side assistance, passenger-side airbags, and all the rest.
And so the search began. To be continued in part two....
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