Seeking Authentic Voice

When my daughter was young she had a habit of taking her time getting ready to leave the house. This was not much of a problem when she was really small and I could just pick her up when it was time to go. But as she grew older the challenge of leaving the house in time to get anywhere when we needed too became almost impossible. One day when she was a teenager Dan and I were at an art fair and we saw a handprinted plaque that read, “I am mostly good at sleeping and wish there was a future in it.” We bought it for her. Eventually we started telling her that we had to be someplace earlier than we actually had to be. So for example we’d tell her we had to be some place at 9am when we really had to be there at 9:30. We called this Jessi time. That pattern worked fairly well for a number of years. So imagine my surprise when my grown daughter started being ready on time and arriving places on time. I couldn’t believe it, I thought for sure she’d never outgrow her tendency to be late. 

One day a rabbi, in a frenzy of religious passion, rushed in before the ark, fell to his knees, and started beating his chest, crying, “I’m nobody! I’m nobody!” The cantor of the synagogue, impressed by the rabbi’s passion, joined the rabbi on his knees. “I’m nobody! I’m nobody!” The custodian, watching from the corner, couldn’t restrain himself, either. He joined the other two on their knees calling out, “I’m nobody! I’m nobody!” At which point the rabbi, nudging the cantor with his elbow, pointed at the custodian and said, “Look who thinks he’s nobody!”  (“How Can I Help” by Ram Dass & Paul Gorman). Who are the nobody’s? Who goes unseen?  At clergy conference this week, as part of the Diocesan year of Race and Diversity Reconciliation, we were invited to reflect on the book, “Bible Women: All Their Words and Why They Matter,” written by Lindsay Hardin Freeman. Lindsay facilitated the conference, so it was extra special to be with the author. Here at the churc

Early on a gray and dreary morning I made my usual long walk to the elementary school where I was in the sixth grade. The entrance to the school was odd, below ground level by a few stairs, with open sides where kids would sit at street level but could then jump down to the front doors. That morning I was lost in my thoughts as I walked from the stairs to the doors, and so I was startled when a couple of boys jumped off of the side walls and on to me, attempting to tackle me to the ground. I was completely taken off guard, but somehow I managed to untangle myself from these boys and hurry into the school. The episode left my heart racing as I walked down the hall and into class. Perhaps having three younger brothers who were prone to roughhousing inoculated me a bit to the surprise of the boys jumping me. Still, when I think of that moment, I remember feeling surprised, violated, humiliated at being jumped on, and even some shame because I did not seeing it coming.  Shame, humilia