The Westboro Baptist Church picketed at my university today. Those are the "God hates fags" people, though what seems to set most Americans off about them is not their homophobia but the fact that they've taken lately to picketing funerals of soldiers with the message "God hates America."
In the afternoon, I attended a celebration of love and diversity being held at the same time as the picket as an effort, basically, to draw people away from the protest. The idea, in other words, was that people would attend this alternative event instead of trying to engage with the WBC picketers.
Despite the attempted distraction, there was a huge crowd surrounding the "cattle cage" that the police had set up for the picketers. I was standing at the periphery of the crowd, observing before joining the alternative event, when the three or four picketers showed up, entered their little fenced-off area, and silently held up their signs. Many of the young men in the crowd (perhaps women were doing this, too, but masculine voices dominated) started chanting "USA! USA!" in a hostile fashion. Eventually that was followed by chants of "Fuck this shit!" and "Suck my dick!" and various other heckling catcalls, some cleverer than others.
I have to say that I was more repelled—and unnerved—by the crowd's reaction than by the WBC's signs. The picketers just stood there silently, holding their signs, quite unperturbed (at least visibly) by all the animosity being hurled at them. It takes guts, I'll give them that. They are standing up for what they believe in the face of opposition that would make me shake if not back out.
There were quite a few signs being held up in the observing crowd supportive of LGBT people. However, I was left with the distinct impression that the lion's share of the crowd's anger toward WBC was born of offended patriotism. I say that based on the "USA! USA!" chant, along with the cheering that greeted motorcyclists and pickup truck drivers who kept driving by the scene waving American flags. In other words, the great sin of the WBC in the eyes of the surrounding mob (held back from committing violence by barriers and police officers), was not so much the WBC's strident conviction that God condemns homosexuality. WBC's great sin, rather—their heresy—was suggesting that God doesn't love America.
The LGBT student group that organized the alternative event, eager to establish that they did love America, brought out an American flag and asked us all to sing the national anthem. Not being a fan of obligatory religious practice or loyalty oaths, I silently declined to join that particular act of worship and praise.
Afterward, in the car on the way home, I felt unexpectedly drained by events.
************
I understand why the "God hates..." rhetoric is inflammatory. And I certainly think the WBC tack the wrong object onto that subject and predicate. But here are some endings for that sentence that I believe are true.
God hates homophobia.
God hates racism.
God hates sexism.
God hates sexual assault.
God hates child abuse.
God hates human trafficking.
God hates ethnic cleansing.
God hates violence.
God hates cruelty.
God hates torture.
God hates terrorism.
God hates suffering.
God hates callousness.
God hates greed.
God hates corruption.
God hates fraud.
God hates hypocrisy.
God hates exploitation.
God hates waste.
God hates pollution.
God hates injustice.
God hates inequality.
God hates the rich-poor gap.
God hates empires.
God hates tyranny.
God hates war.
God is love, yes. And I was careful to make all those sentences end with things, not people. But there are things God hates—deplores, is passionately opposed to—and teaches us to hate as well.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Prayer on the death of Muammar Gaddafi
I'm reblogging here something I wrote for the Mormon Worker. A few people have posted responses over there.
************
Heavenly Father and Mother–
I’m grateful that Gaddafi is no longer in power. I pray that this can be the beginning of a better life for Libyans. I pray for peace, and justice, and democracy in Libya. I pray for an end to the violence.
I’m not grateful that he’s dead. I’m sorry that he’s dead. I mean that in the sense that I take accountability for being complicit in his death. I spoke out in support of the war in Libya. And that makes me–I was about to say “in some small way,” but I take that back; minimizing my guilt is Your judgment to make, not mine. Let’s try this again: I spoke out in support of the war in Libya. And that means I share responsibility for the vigilante actions of the soldiers who killed him instead of bringing him to legal justice.
Gaddafi’s death should not have happened. I don’t know, really, what You would have regarded as the ideal way to end his regime. I know You hate tyrrany, so I assume You hated the violence of Gaddafi’s reign. I know You also hate war, though I operate on the assumption that You recognize it’s necessary at times. But I also know You would not have wanted things to end like this.
As I’m writing this, I’m realizing that I feel guilty about Gaddafi’s death because that’s the one that’s been publicized. But if I share responsibility for Gaddafi’s death, because of my support for the counteroffensive against his regime, then I also share responsibility for I-don’t-know-how-many deaths carried out by the rebel forces and their NATO allies, or for whatever other atrocities the rebels have committed on the way to power. I also share responsibility for whatever injustices the new regime commits from this point forward.
I started off this message feeling repentant, but now I’m actually feeling rather angry at You for putting us in situations where we have to make these impossible choices, while You sit up there and judge us and cry over our failures.
I don’t want to end on that note. I pray that somehow what has happened can lead to good for Libyans. I pray for all those who are suffering, whatever “side” they’re on.
In Christ's name, amen.
************
As a follow-up to the above, let me add this: I favored intervention in Libya because I felt the U.S. ought to support the Arab Spring and because the action, unlike in Iraq, was a defensive, not "preemptive," measure and had international support. I'm not sure how an intervention that began as an effort to enforce a UN-mandated no-fly zone and ceasefire ended up becoming NATO-backed support for a civil war. I also still can't explain in a non-cynical way why there was a political will to intervene militarily in support of rebels against Gaddafi's regime, while there is apparently no will to intervene militarily on behalf of protesters in Syria, or Yemen, or in Darfur.
The bottom line is that I feel used by my government. I'm also humiliated to realize how uninformed I am about rigorous thinking on non-violence. I don't know enough to be entitled to an opinion about how the situation in Libya, or any of the places I've mentioned above, could have been handled in a different way that might have minimized violence and avoided civil war.
What I do feel opinionated about is this: I want to live in a society where articulate, pragmatic voices for non-violence are more prominent in the media and in government. When I've heard proposals for a "Department of Peace" in the past, I've smiled at them as admirable but utopian wishing. I'm prepared now to seriously advocate the creation of some version of such an entity.
************
I pray for Libya.
I pray for Syria.
I pray for the Arab Spring generally.
I pray for the Occupy Wall Street movement and the similar movements it has inspired.
I pray for a better government, which means I pray for an electorate inspired by a spirit of wisdom.
************
Heavenly Father and Mother–
I’m grateful that Gaddafi is no longer in power. I pray that this can be the beginning of a better life for Libyans. I pray for peace, and justice, and democracy in Libya. I pray for an end to the violence.
I’m not grateful that he’s dead. I’m sorry that he’s dead. I mean that in the sense that I take accountability for being complicit in his death. I spoke out in support of the war in Libya. And that makes me–I was about to say “in some small way,” but I take that back; minimizing my guilt is Your judgment to make, not mine. Let’s try this again: I spoke out in support of the war in Libya. And that means I share responsibility for the vigilante actions of the soldiers who killed him instead of bringing him to legal justice.
Gaddafi’s death should not have happened. I don’t know, really, what You would have regarded as the ideal way to end his regime. I know You hate tyrrany, so I assume You hated the violence of Gaddafi’s reign. I know You also hate war, though I operate on the assumption that You recognize it’s necessary at times. But I also know You would not have wanted things to end like this.
As I’m writing this, I’m realizing that I feel guilty about Gaddafi’s death because that’s the one that’s been publicized. But if I share responsibility for Gaddafi’s death, because of my support for the counteroffensive against his regime, then I also share responsibility for I-don’t-know-how-many deaths carried out by the rebel forces and their NATO allies, or for whatever other atrocities the rebels have committed on the way to power. I also share responsibility for whatever injustices the new regime commits from this point forward.
I started off this message feeling repentant, but now I’m actually feeling rather angry at You for putting us in situations where we have to make these impossible choices, while You sit up there and judge us and cry over our failures.
I don’t want to end on that note. I pray that somehow what has happened can lead to good for Libyans. I pray for all those who are suffering, whatever “side” they’re on.
In Christ's name, amen.
************
As a follow-up to the above, let me add this: I favored intervention in Libya because I felt the U.S. ought to support the Arab Spring and because the action, unlike in Iraq, was a defensive, not "preemptive," measure and had international support. I'm not sure how an intervention that began as an effort to enforce a UN-mandated no-fly zone and ceasefire ended up becoming NATO-backed support for a civil war. I also still can't explain in a non-cynical way why there was a political will to intervene militarily in support of rebels against Gaddafi's regime, while there is apparently no will to intervene militarily on behalf of protesters in Syria, or Yemen, or in Darfur.
The bottom line is that I feel used by my government. I'm also humiliated to realize how uninformed I am about rigorous thinking on non-violence. I don't know enough to be entitled to an opinion about how the situation in Libya, or any of the places I've mentioned above, could have been handled in a different way that might have minimized violence and avoided civil war.
What I do feel opinionated about is this: I want to live in a society where articulate, pragmatic voices for non-violence are more prominent in the media and in government. When I've heard proposals for a "Department of Peace" in the past, I've smiled at them as admirable but utopian wishing. I'm prepared now to seriously advocate the creation of some version of such an entity.
************
I pray for Libya.
I pray for Syria.
I pray for the Arab Spring generally.
I pray for the Occupy Wall Street movement and the similar movements it has inspired.
I pray for a better government, which means I pray for an electorate inspired by a spirit of wisdom.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
10/9/91 - Entered the MTC
Today is the 20th anniversary of my entering the Missionary Training Center. Since there are now approaching 20 MTCs, including one in Santo Domingo, I should specify that I attended the MTC in Provo.
Being historically minded, I'm intrigued to realize that I am the first person in my family to enter the MTC. My father served a mission in 1969-71, if I'm not mistaken about those dates. That means he probably attended the LTM (Language Training Mission), which would have been recently established at BYU. The MTC I attended—the big complex west of BYU, across the street from the Provo Temple, didn't start operating until 1978.
I see the Provo MTC has a website now. That shouldn't surprise me, but I wasn't expecting it.
I've been poking around a little online for info about the Santo Domingo MTC. The Deseret News has a photo. I believe it's located adjacent to the Santo Domingo temple, which I've never seen.
According to the folks at Cumorah.com, Dominicans now account for half of the missionary force in the Dominican Republic. When I served, 1991-1993, they were about a third of the missionary force in my mission. I never had a Dominican companion, though I shared apartments with a couple. They had a reputation among the Americans for being difficult—for having sullen or arrogant attitudes—which based on my own observations, I would be inclined to chalk up to:
Another symbolic status differential that I'm glad was later removed is that at zone conferences the mission president would give his closing "pep talk" in English on the premise that this was the first language of the majority of missionaries, and he wanted to be sure even the American greenies would benefit. This meant the Dominican missionaries received simultaneous translation from someone sitting behind or beside them. Eventually the mission president shifted to Spanish, which I'm glad of: however defensible his intentions, privileging English had the effect of converting Dominican missionaries into a second-class minority in their own country—and, no less, in an institution where all missionaries were supposed to know or be learning Spanish.
These are the kinds of signals by which American Mormons unthinkingly advertise their privileged status in the church—and in the world more generally. (It's a hell of a lot easier for an American to travel wherever they want than for a Dominican.)
I think there was one Dominican AP (assistant to the mission president) the whole time I served.
My mission (Santo Domingo East) is currently led, the church newsroom tells me, by a Puerto Rican, Heriberto Hernandez.
I'm floored to discover that in 2010, my mission was combined with the Puerto Rico San Juan East Mission, essentially bringing that part of Puerto Rico under my mission's jurisdiction. Not much must have been happening in Puerto Rico. That's ironic since immediately after the lifting of the priesthood ban in 1978, missionary work in the Dominican Republic began under the auspices of Puerto Rico.
UPDATE: I realized after writing this that the merger of the Dominican and Puerto Rican missions reduces the likelihood that the missions will be led by a Dominican in the future, since the mission president needs to be able to travel to both countries. It's easier for a Puerto Rican to travel to the DR than for a Dominican to travel to Puerto Rico. :(
Enough. I need to wrap this up.
**********
Heavenly Father—
I'm grateful for the experience of my mission,
for the way it immersed me in a different society and culture,
for the way it brought me into close contact with poverty,
for the way it opened my eyes and softened my heart to forms of suffering, discrimination, and exploitation.
I'm grateful for the people who allowed me to enter their lives while I was in their country.
I hope I brought them something worthwhile.
During this two-year meditation on my mission experience,
show me what else you would like me to do by way of serving individuals in the Dominican Republic,
whether that's people I already know or people I don't.
In Christ's name, amen.
Being historically minded, I'm intrigued to realize that I am the first person in my family to enter the MTC. My father served a mission in 1969-71, if I'm not mistaken about those dates. That means he probably attended the LTM (Language Training Mission), which would have been recently established at BYU. The MTC I attended—the big complex west of BYU, across the street from the Provo Temple, didn't start operating until 1978.
I see the Provo MTC has a website now. That shouldn't surprise me, but I wasn't expecting it.
I've been poking around a little online for info about the Santo Domingo MTC. The Deseret News has a photo. I believe it's located adjacent to the Santo Domingo temple, which I've never seen.
According to the folks at Cumorah.com, Dominicans now account for half of the missionary force in the Dominican Republic. When I served, 1991-1993, they were about a third of the missionary force in my mission. I never had a Dominican companion, though I shared apartments with a couple. They had a reputation among the Americans for being difficult—for having sullen or arrogant attitudes—which based on my own observations, I would be inclined to chalk up to:
- Resentment over how often the Americans excluded them by speaking English around them (even though we weren't supposed to).
- Resentment over the way the mission was dominated by foreigners and generations-long church members who thought they knew best. (As the child of converts, I experienced a similar kind of marginalization in the States.)
- In at least one case I know of, a sense of dismay over the American missionaries' First-World lifestyle and expectations. The Dominican elder I'm thinking of resented the way missionaries spent what to him were exorbitant sums of money on recreation; he was trying to save money for attending the temple after his mission.
Another symbolic status differential that I'm glad was later removed is that at zone conferences the mission president would give his closing "pep talk" in English on the premise that this was the first language of the majority of missionaries, and he wanted to be sure even the American greenies would benefit. This meant the Dominican missionaries received simultaneous translation from someone sitting behind or beside them. Eventually the mission president shifted to Spanish, which I'm glad of: however defensible his intentions, privileging English had the effect of converting Dominican missionaries into a second-class minority in their own country—and, no less, in an institution where all missionaries were supposed to know or be learning Spanish.
These are the kinds of signals by which American Mormons unthinkingly advertise their privileged status in the church—and in the world more generally. (It's a hell of a lot easier for an American to travel wherever they want than for a Dominican.)
I think there was one Dominican AP (assistant to the mission president) the whole time I served.
My mission (Santo Domingo East) is currently led, the church newsroom tells me, by a Puerto Rican, Heriberto Hernandez.
I'm floored to discover that in 2010, my mission was combined with the Puerto Rico San Juan East Mission, essentially bringing that part of Puerto Rico under my mission's jurisdiction. Not much must have been happening in Puerto Rico. That's ironic since immediately after the lifting of the priesthood ban in 1978, missionary work in the Dominican Republic began under the auspices of Puerto Rico.
UPDATE: I realized after writing this that the merger of the Dominican and Puerto Rican missions reduces the likelihood that the missions will be led by a Dominican in the future, since the mission president needs to be able to travel to both countries. It's easier for a Puerto Rican to travel to the DR than for a Dominican to travel to Puerto Rico. :(
Enough. I need to wrap this up.
**********
Heavenly Father—
I'm grateful for the experience of my mission,
for the way it immersed me in a different society and culture,
for the way it brought me into close contact with poverty,
for the way it opened my eyes and softened my heart to forms of suffering, discrimination, and exploitation.
I'm grateful for the people who allowed me to enter their lives while I was in their country.
I hope I brought them something worthwhile.
During this two-year meditation on my mission experience,
show me what else you would like me to do by way of serving individuals in the Dominican Republic,
whether that's people I already know or people I don't.
In Christ's name, amen.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Contemplative prayer - October
This evening I led a first-Friday contemplative prayer service. The readings and prayers are pasted below. I've used the readings before, at a similar service, but the intercessions are new, based on language and themes from the readings.
************
PSALM 63
O God, my God,
you are the One I seek.
My soul thirsts for you;
my body longs for you
as in a dry, weary land
where there is no water.
Your love is better than life;
therefore my lips will speak your praise.
I will bless you as long as I live.
I will lift up my hands in your name.
You fill my soul as with a banquet;
my mouth praises you with joy.
On my bed, I remember you—
through sleepless nights, my thoughts turn to you—
for you have been my help;
you shelter me beneath your wing.
My soul clings to you.
With your mighty hand, you bear me up.
************
ACTS 2:42-47
Those who believed
devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship,
to the breaking of bread and the prayers.
God performed many wonders and signs in the community,
which filled them all with awe.
Living together, they had all things in common.
They sold their property and goods
and distributed the proceeds to all,
according to their needs.
Every day, they spent time in the Temple
and broke bread at home.
They ate with glad and generous hearts,
praising God and winning the goodwill of all around them.
And the Lord added to their numbers daily.
************
MARK 6:34-44
When Jesus reached shore,
there was a large crowd waiting for him.
Moved with compassion, he began to teach them.
When it grew late, his disciples said to him,
“Send the people away to the villages
so they can buy themselves something to eat.”
But Jesus said, “Feed them yourselves.”
They replied, “Where are we supposed to get enough money
to buy bread for all these people?”
He said, “See how many loaves you have.”
They came back and told him, “Five loaves, and two fish.”
Then he told them to have all the people sit down in groups on the grass.
Jesus took the five loaves and the two fish.
He looked up to heaven,
blessed and broke the loaves,
and gave them to his disciples to set before the people.
He also divided up the two fish to share among them.
Everyone ate their fill.
There were enough leftover pieces of bread and fish to fill twelve baskets.
Over five thousand people were fed from that meal.
************
PRAYERS OF INTERCESSION
Jesus Christ, you are the One we long for.
You are the bread we share.
You are the water that quenches our thirst.
We pray for all who hunger for your love.
May they be filled.
We pray for all who are in want—
who lack food, water, or shelter,
employment, education, or health care,
comfort, safety, freedom, or hope.
Bear them up with your hand; shelter them under your wing.
We offer you our energy, our abilities, our possessions.
Show us how you would have us use our gifts for the benefit of others.
We pray for all your church.
Give us grace to live in fellowship with all whom you are drawing to yourself,
including those whom we would prefer went away.
We thank you for all the ways you have nourished and sustained us.
We praise you for your love.
************
PSALM 63
O God, my God,
you are the One I seek.
My soul thirsts for you;
my body longs for you
as in a dry, weary land
where there is no water.
Your love is better than life;
therefore my lips will speak your praise.
I will bless you as long as I live.
I will lift up my hands in your name.
You fill my soul as with a banquet;
my mouth praises you with joy.
On my bed, I remember you—
through sleepless nights, my thoughts turn to you—
for you have been my help;
you shelter me beneath your wing.
My soul clings to you.
With your mighty hand, you bear me up.
************
ACTS 2:42-47
Those who believed
devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship,
to the breaking of bread and the prayers.
God performed many wonders and signs in the community,
which filled them all with awe.
Living together, they had all things in common.
They sold their property and goods
and distributed the proceeds to all,
according to their needs.
Every day, they spent time in the Temple
and broke bread at home.
They ate with glad and generous hearts,
praising God and winning the goodwill of all around them.
And the Lord added to their numbers daily.
************
MARK 6:34-44
When Jesus reached shore,
there was a large crowd waiting for him.
Moved with compassion, he began to teach them.
When it grew late, his disciples said to him,
“Send the people away to the villages
so they can buy themselves something to eat.”
But Jesus said, “Feed them yourselves.”
They replied, “Where are we supposed to get enough money
to buy bread for all these people?”
He said, “See how many loaves you have.”
They came back and told him, “Five loaves, and two fish.”
Then he told them to have all the people sit down in groups on the grass.
Jesus took the five loaves and the two fish.
He looked up to heaven,
blessed and broke the loaves,
and gave them to his disciples to set before the people.
He also divided up the two fish to share among them.
Everyone ate their fill.
There were enough leftover pieces of bread and fish to fill twelve baskets.
Over five thousand people were fed from that meal.
************
PRAYERS OF INTERCESSION
Jesus Christ, you are the One we long for.
You are the bread we share.
You are the water that quenches our thirst.
We pray for all who hunger for your love.
May they be filled.
We pray for all who are in want—
who lack food, water, or shelter,
employment, education, or health care,
comfort, safety, freedom, or hope.
Bear them up with your hand; shelter them under your wing.
We offer you our energy, our abilities, our possessions.
Show us how you would have us use our gifts for the benefit of others.
We pray for all your church.
Give us grace to live in fellowship with all whom you are drawing to yourself,
including those whom we would prefer went away.
We thank you for all the ways you have nourished and sustained us.
We praise you for your love.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Kirtland pilgrimage
I just returned from the Affirmation conference, which was held this year in Kirtland and Cleveland, and I want to "debrief." This was the first Affirmation conference I've attended in something like seven years.
The highlight for me was the Sunday morning events held at the Kirtland Temple, which Community of Christ very hospitably made available to us. I went early in the morning, sat in the garden on the temple grounds, and chanted most of D&C 109, the Kirtland Temple dedicatory prayer (minus some petitions to which I can't say "Amen" in good conscience). Then I attended a testimony meeting in the lower court of the temple, which was rather raw, as you might imagine. I gave the closing prayer, which went like this:
When we had toured the temple the day before, I'd felt underwhelmed by the building, which didn't look as "polished" and elegant as it does in photographs. (I suspect it's a trick of how the photos are lit.) But sitting in the temple this morning, during the devotional, I felt I better appreciated what a lovely building it is, white and full of sunlight. The pulpits are quite distinctive. And it was weird to think that Joseph and Emma and others actually sat in those pulpits or in these pews.
************
On a more sour note:
The devotional was attended by at least one LDS missionary couple from the historic Kirtland village, down the hill from the temple. I was surprised to see them there, and the more I think about it, the less pleasant I find that surprise. Their presence casts a shadow on the conference experience for me. A positive reading of their presence is that we're building bridges. A more suspicious reading is that this, like the Tabernacle invite to gay activists last Christmas, was a cheap way for the church to build goodwill. It was a cheap way to try to prevent further embarrassing protests outside their temples.
Unfortunately, I've seen too many people get screwed by church officials, myself included, not to be suspicious. The LDS Church is going to have to work a hell of a lot harder to win my trust. I feel like Prior in Angels in America: "Answer me: Inside. Bruises? . . . Come back to me when they're visible. I want to see black and blue, . . . , I want to see blood. Because I can't believe you even have blood in your veins till you show it to me."
I'm a little surprised to realize how angry I feel about this.
************
And then a sad, wistful note:
At the temple gift shop, I bought a lovely little illustrated history of Community of Christ whose coauthors included David Howlett and John Hamer, two young scholars I know. It made me feel jealous. David and John are doing work for Community of Christ that I would love to be doing for a liberal LDS Church, which of course doesn't exist. I've known for a decade that this is what I want; I accept that like most people who have lived and do live in this world, I can't have what I want. But I still feel jealous and sad and self-pitying about it.
The highlight for me was the Sunday morning events held at the Kirtland Temple, which Community of Christ very hospitably made available to us. I went early in the morning, sat in the garden on the temple grounds, and chanted most of D&C 109, the Kirtland Temple dedicatory prayer (minus some petitions to which I can't say "Amen" in good conscience). Then I attended a testimony meeting in the lower court of the temple, which was rather raw, as you might imagine. I gave the closing prayer, which went like this:
Holy God,The testimony meeting was followed by a devotional, near the end of which everyone stood to sing "The Spirit of God."
our spiritual forebears built this place to be a sanctuary of your holiness.
They built it in the faith and hope
that here you would endow them with power from on high,
so that they could go forth from this place in the power of your Spirit,
to carry out your work in the world.
Send us out in the power of your Spirit
to do your work,
to love and to serve,
to magnify our talents,
to be a blessing in the lives of others.
In Christ's name we pray, amen.
When we had toured the temple the day before, I'd felt underwhelmed by the building, which didn't look as "polished" and elegant as it does in photographs. (I suspect it's a trick of how the photos are lit.) But sitting in the temple this morning, during the devotional, I felt I better appreciated what a lovely building it is, white and full of sunlight. The pulpits are quite distinctive. And it was weird to think that Joseph and Emma and others actually sat in those pulpits or in these pews.
************
On a more sour note:
The devotional was attended by at least one LDS missionary couple from the historic Kirtland village, down the hill from the temple. I was surprised to see them there, and the more I think about it, the less pleasant I find that surprise. Their presence casts a shadow on the conference experience for me. A positive reading of their presence is that we're building bridges. A more suspicious reading is that this, like the Tabernacle invite to gay activists last Christmas, was a cheap way for the church to build goodwill. It was a cheap way to try to prevent further embarrassing protests outside their temples.
Unfortunately, I've seen too many people get screwed by church officials, myself included, not to be suspicious. The LDS Church is going to have to work a hell of a lot harder to win my trust. I feel like Prior in Angels in America: "Answer me: Inside. Bruises? . . . Come back to me when they're visible. I want to see black and blue, . . . , I want to see blood. Because I can't believe you even have blood in your veins till you show it to me."
I'm a little surprised to realize how angry I feel about this.
************
And then a sad, wistful note:
At the temple gift shop, I bought a lovely little illustrated history of Community of Christ whose coauthors included David Howlett and John Hamer, two young scholars I know. It made me feel jealous. David and John are doing work for Community of Christ that I would love to be doing for a liberal LDS Church, which of course doesn't exist. I've known for a decade that this is what I want; I accept that like most people who have lived and do live in this world, I can't have what I want. But I still feel jealous and sad and self-pitying about it.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
9/11 Anniversary
Creator, Sustainer, Peacegiver,
Crucified and Risen One,
Dona nobis pacem. Grant us peace.
Grief for the loss of all who died on 9/11 and for all who have died in the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq.
Prayers for all those who have lost loved ones during this decade of violence.
Prayers for all who have been wounded in body or spirit.
Prayers for all who are trying to rebuild lives broken by terrorism and war.
I mean all. Not just "ours." All.
Including my enemies, whatever that means. I add that part because you told me to. I don't really understand what I'm supposed to be thinking or feeling or asking for, exactly, when I pray for them.
God bless America. God bless Afghanistan. God bless Iraq. God bless Iran. God bless Libya. God bless Syria. God bless Saudi Arabia. God bless Israel. God bless Palestine.
Risen One, I pray that destruction may somehow be transformed into genuine lasting good.
Give a spirit of wisdom to the leaders of the nations, if in fact that prayer corresponds to anything you can actually do. Give them a spirit of respect for justice and the rule of law.
In Christ's name, amen.
Crucified and Risen One,
Dona nobis pacem. Grant us peace.
Grief for the loss of all who died on 9/11 and for all who have died in the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq.
Prayers for all those who have lost loved ones during this decade of violence.
Prayers for all who have been wounded in body or spirit.
Prayers for all who are trying to rebuild lives broken by terrorism and war.
I mean all. Not just "ours." All.
Including my enemies, whatever that means. I add that part because you told me to. I don't really understand what I'm supposed to be thinking or feeling or asking for, exactly, when I pray for them.
God bless America. God bless Afghanistan. God bless Iraq. God bless Iran. God bless Libya. God bless Syria. God bless Saudi Arabia. God bless Israel. God bless Palestine.
Risen One, I pray that destruction may somehow be transformed into genuine lasting good.
Give a spirit of wisdom to the leaders of the nations, if in fact that prayer corresponds to anything you can actually do. Give them a spirit of respect for justice and the rule of law.
In Christ's name, amen.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
9/4/91 - Waiting to serve
I don't remember exactly what I was doing twenty years ago in early September. I was in the holding period between my mission call (early August) and actually departing for my mission (early October). I'm annoyed that I can't remember what I was doing that period. I assume I was living at home? Was this the brief period when I worked as a bagger at the supermarket?
I do remember I attended the temple rather frequently. Loved the endowment. In the year leading up to my mission call, I attended the temple every Thursday afternoon using a baptisms-only recommend. Since I wasn't endowed, I could only be baptized, not baptize—though I remember being the voice for confirmations once. The baptistry director told me they'd put me to work officiating as soon as I was endowed. But once I'd been endowed, I never went back to the basement; all I did after that were endowments and the occasional session of initiatories and sealings. I feel a little bad about that.
Anyway, I attended the temple pretty frequently in the two months before my mission. What I didn't do during those two months, and wish I had, was learn more about the Dominican Republic. The problem was, my parents were encouraging me to do that, and since the mission was supposed to be my transition to adulthood and independence, I resisted doing what they wanted.
So here are the kinds of facts I wish I'd read up on.
First, a map of the DR—or rather, of the island of Hispaniola. I've made a point of including Haiti, though it usually gets cut off the left-hand side of most maps of the DR, and what little of it you see is often left blank. Out of sight, out of mind. A good number of Dominicans would like it that way. Actually, finding a map online that included both countries was harder than I expected.
I do remember I attended the temple rather frequently. Loved the endowment. In the year leading up to my mission call, I attended the temple every Thursday afternoon using a baptisms-only recommend. Since I wasn't endowed, I could only be baptized, not baptize—though I remember being the voice for confirmations once. The baptistry director told me they'd put me to work officiating as soon as I was endowed. But once I'd been endowed, I never went back to the basement; all I did after that were endowments and the occasional session of initiatories and sealings. I feel a little bad about that.
Anyway, I attended the temple pretty frequently in the two months before my mission. What I didn't do during those two months, and wish I had, was learn more about the Dominican Republic. The problem was, my parents were encouraging me to do that, and since the mission was supposed to be my transition to adulthood and independence, I resisted doing what they wanted.
So here are the kinds of facts I wish I'd read up on.
First, a map of the DR—or rather, of the island of Hispaniola. I've made a point of including Haiti, though it usually gets cut off the left-hand side of most maps of the DR, and what little of it you see is often left blank. Out of sight, out of mind. A good number of Dominicans would like it that way. Actually, finding a map online that included both countries was harder than I expected.
Quick history: Inhabited by Tainos before Columbus; they get wiped out pretty quick after 1492. The Spaniards' first New World settlements are here. In the late 1700s, the island passes to French control and after the Haitian Revolution becomes the site of the world's first independent black republic. The Spanish-speaking population declare independence from Haiti in 1844 (a few months before Joseph Smith's death). Subsequently, the Dominican Republic's political history is tumultuous until the efficient but brutal dictatorship of Rafael Trujillo, 1930s-1950s. At the time I served my mission, one of Trujillo's cronies, Joaquin Balaguer, was president. The DR was invaded by the US twice, both times to quell political instability perceived as incompatible with US interests. The first time was in 1916, the second was 1965.
The CIA World Factbook (if you can't trust them to know, who will?) tells me that 70% of the Dominican population is urban. This is part of a global trend toward urbanization. Considering that Mormon tradition has a special focus on God as a city planner—as Someone who has definite ideas about the kind of city human beings ought to create—I'd love to see Mormons talking more about urbanization and the gospel. How can we contribute to building up cities that come closer to the pattern of Zion?
The population of the DR is currently just under 10 million. For comparison, that's about half a million more than the population of North Carolina, the last state I lived in, and about two million less than Ohio, where I now live. The DR is five times as populous as Utah. That's a lot of people on a small island. About a third of them live in the capital, Santo Domingo.
Over 40% of Dominicans live below the poverty line. The comparable figure for the U.S. is a little over 10%, but I understand that the measure of poverty isn't the same: I suspect that the DR starts out with a lower standard of poverty than the U.S. It's a poor country, is what I'm saying. However, in Haiti, on the other side of the island, the population living below the poverty line is 80%.
Does this all seem dry? I have mental pictures to go with these statistics. Neighborhoods. Homes. Families. Individuals.
There may be a million Haitians living illegally in the DR. Note that's about a tenth of the figure I gave for the DR's population. They work shit jobs, sometimes (e.g., in the sugar fields) as virtual slaves.
Meanwhile, there are over a million Dominicans and Dominican Americans in the U.S., with New York being the biggest population center.
Internet service is apparently widely available in the DR now. Electricity, I understand, is still irregular (i.e., frequent outages) but improving. UNICEF tells me that 86% of the population has access to safe drinking water, but I don't know if that means you can drink tap water yet or not. You couldn't when I was there—safe water meant bottled water.
There's a subway now in Santo Domingo—I was blown away to learn that. It's been operating since 2009. The pictures I've seen online look so . . . contemporary. Which is strange because of how it clashes with my memories of the run-down taxis and buses we used to ride in.
Enough. I'm having doubts about the utility of this exercise. What do these facts really tell you about the place? Maybe you do just have to get there and see these realities before they become meaningful.
************
ADDENDUM: Rising into consciousness this morning as the dog demanded her walk, I had an epiphany: Part of what bothers me about this exercise is that I don't have a good sense of the historical "Why's." Why do 40% of Dominicans live below the poverty line? Why did the public transportation system consist of run-down taxis and buses? Why hadn't the government created drinkable tap water? Why does electricity remain intermittently available? How did all these realities come to be?
The answer would be complex, I presume, and would involve slavery, Spanish feudalism, colonialism, perhaps the terrain and the difficulties it presented for creating a stronger central government, corruption, foreign debt, the power dynamics of international commerce. I have this vague sense that my country, and other First World countries, are largely to blame—we're indifferent, or we're interested in the DR for the wrong, selfish, exploitative reasons. But I don't carry in my head a succinct historical account for the origins of Dominican poverty—or Haitian poverty. I wish I did. I presume economic historians could give me an answer, or multiple competing answers, to that question. Is there somewhere I could find that readily, as close to my fingertips as Wikipedia? There ought to be.
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