A couple of weeks ago I had the opportunity to hear Bishop Gene Robinson give a lecture at Vanderbilt entitled "Being Gay: Does it Really Get Better?" If you don't recognize the name, Bishop Robinson was the first openly gay bishop ordained in the Episcopalian Church. To see his video message for the It Gets Better Project, click here. (Here's a link explaining a little more about the It Gets Better Project if you don't know much about it... read and then watch some of the videos on the site!)
Bishop Robinson spoke honestly and poignantly about his own experiences of growing up, getting married, coming out, getting divorced, meeting his current husband, and his career in the Church. His personal story was moving, but what stuck with me the most was the way he lovingly criticized the Church. Obviously, he loves and is committed to the Church, but he also reminds us that "The Church is responsible for most of the pain caused to LGBT youth and adults," meaning that most of the arguments against homosexuality and gay people have their roots in religion and the Bible, and it is Un-Christ-like and unacceptable.
He used racism in an example to explain what he means by that for those of us who are not committing hate crimes against LGBT people or being intentionally exclusionary or discriminating: "Unless I am working to dismantle a racist society, I am a racist, because I am benefitting from it." The same could be said of most other "isms"--that unless we stand up against discrimination and especially systemic discriminations, we are complicit in sustaining and perpetuating it.
The same is certainly true today with regard to the LGBTQ movement. The Church and Christians often use certain Bible verses to justify their hatred and fear and exclusion, but this won't be the first time that the Church has had to repent for our actions against certain people and groups of people, and I hope that we do that before I have children and have to decide whether or not to take them to a church and ask them to participate in a faith that openly excludes people based on their sexual orientation or gender identity. (We're getting close in the PC(USA)!)
Bishop Robinson ended his lecture on a hopeful note regarding the future of the Church and the Christian community's attitude toward LGBT people. He said that change happens when an experience challenges our worldview. We then enter into a time of chaos in which we question our worldview, and we come out of that chaos either in denial of that challenging experience or with a new worldview. Some change has already happened, he says, because so many people have come out and challenged the worldview of many of their loved ones. In the end, he says, it usually happens that our "mutual love for one another trumps what we've been taught." I hope so.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Romanticizing Poverty
In the month of February I challenged myself not to buy any groceries and just to use what I had at home to make my meals, and it went pretty well (see blog entry "Budgeting"). I challenged myself partly to be able to save some money for a month, partly to try and give myself a culinary challenge that would force me to be more creative and eat a little more sustainably. The other part of this challenge was to live the way many of my neighbors live, since many people--even in Nashville--live in food deserts where there are no grocery stores and so they cannot just run to Kroger when an ingredient is missing, or who don't have enough money at some points in the month to have the luxury of eating what their mood dictates.
Everything went well. I did go home at one point and my mom sent me back with some home-made lasagne and a bag full of groceries, so that helped, and I did decide to make a black bean soup and went to the market down the street and bought some celery and bell peppers to add to that. I also went out to eat several times with people from work, other friends, or fast food while I was traveling a couple of days near the end of the month. I realize that eating out is a luxury and a huge expense, so I try only to eat out when I'm with other people and not just because I'm too tired to cook.
I realize, though, that I need to be careful not to idealize or romanticize poverty and the situation that many people live in daily and weekly that is not a personal challenge, but a necessity for survival in a condition of "not enough." I am afraid that it is often too easy for me and others in similar economic situations (probably with similar political and world views) to say that our lives would just be so much better if we had less money. Or maybe we don't say that so much as we think that people who have less money are happier and more in touch with what is really important in life. This is possibly true, but it also ignores the emotional and physical stress of worrying about food, money, housing, and employment.
In a discussion about the book Nickel and Dimed recently, our YAV group was asked if we had ever experienced anything like the need that Barbara Ehrenreich describes in her book. Granted, I do not know the situations from which everyone comes, but it felt a little bit ridiculous for the 7 of us, who have enough resources and support both to fund-raise for the YAV year and to be able to not really make money for a year, to be having this discussion. Because even when people like us--young people who are in grad school or volunteer programs or entry level jobs with not much savings but with parents and families and networks--talk about not having, it feels cheap. Because even when my checking account is low, if something terrible happened, I know that I have the network of my family and community to support me both financially and emotionally.
And I think that is often the difference between me and many people I pass on the street in downtown Nashville. I have a financial and emotional safety net in my community, I have a college education, and I have not up to this point in my life had any struggles with mental illness or addiction of my own or any close family members. And that, more than my actual bank account, is what defines me as solidly upper-middle-class and in no real danger any time soon of being anything else.
Everything went well. I did go home at one point and my mom sent me back with some home-made lasagne and a bag full of groceries, so that helped, and I did decide to make a black bean soup and went to the market down the street and bought some celery and bell peppers to add to that. I also went out to eat several times with people from work, other friends, or fast food while I was traveling a couple of days near the end of the month. I realize that eating out is a luxury and a huge expense, so I try only to eat out when I'm with other people and not just because I'm too tired to cook.
I realize, though, that I need to be careful not to idealize or romanticize poverty and the situation that many people live in daily and weekly that is not a personal challenge, but a necessity for survival in a condition of "not enough." I am afraid that it is often too easy for me and others in similar economic situations (probably with similar political and world views) to say that our lives would just be so much better if we had less money. Or maybe we don't say that so much as we think that people who have less money are happier and more in touch with what is really important in life. This is possibly true, but it also ignores the emotional and physical stress of worrying about food, money, housing, and employment.
In a discussion about the book Nickel and Dimed recently, our YAV group was asked if we had ever experienced anything like the need that Barbara Ehrenreich describes in her book. Granted, I do not know the situations from which everyone comes, but it felt a little bit ridiculous for the 7 of us, who have enough resources and support both to fund-raise for the YAV year and to be able to not really make money for a year, to be having this discussion. Because even when people like us--young people who are in grad school or volunteer programs or entry level jobs with not much savings but with parents and families and networks--talk about not having, it feels cheap. Because even when my checking account is low, if something terrible happened, I know that I have the network of my family and community to support me both financially and emotionally.
And I think that is often the difference between me and many people I pass on the street in downtown Nashville. I have a financial and emotional safety net in my community, I have a college education, and I have not up to this point in my life had any struggles with mental illness or addiction of my own or any close family members. And that, more than my actual bank account, is what defines me as solidly upper-middle-class and in no real danger any time soon of being anything else.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Check it out!
Check out this newsletter article written by my roommate who works at Room in the Inn, a homeless community center that I've written about before. Then "like" their facebook page!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)