Choice

 If no one is reading this, then who am I writing it for? Am I writing it for myself? I suppose, to get the thoughts out of my head, to put them here in this place. Stay here. Behave. Stop tearing up my brain. As if they'll listen. But still.

So, the draft opinion leaked in May was legit. The justices who all sat for confirmation hearings saying that Roe was the settled law of the land just overturned that decision and made life much more dangerous for women in nearly half the states in the union. I haven't voted for a Republican candidate in some time. As things stand now, I cannot imagine casting a vote for any Republican going forward. That political tribe has been taken over by the forces of male chauvinist white supremacy. There's nothing in that formulation that I can begin to support. 

It isn't about abortion. It's about control. It's about a worldview that distrusts women and fears their independence in the same way that racism distrusts people of color and fears their independence. The worst part is that I feel conflicted about those who hold that worldview. A part of me would very much like to say, this is the line. If you are a part of that, I cannot be a part of you. Which would cut me off from people I care about. The other part of me recognizes that this is not the way of Christ. Jesus didn't shy away from making some pretty declarative statements about the things that keep us from entering God's realm of peace, love, and justice. But he also went to the cross to bring what is fractured in the world back together, to make it whole once more.

The selfish, egocentric part of me says that I don't want to be part of a whole with people who hold a worldview that I consider to be mean-spirited and hateful. The part that follows Jesus knows that to dismiss them is to engage in behavior that is also mean-spirited and hateful. 

Just to get this out there. I'm convinced that many of the people who oppose abortion are simply bitter about the fact that someone other than them is getting more (sexual) action than they are and they're looking to punish them in some way for that. Sexual repression is real and it has done real harm over the ages.

Political

 Since I'm limiting any social media posts to pictures from this trip and keeping my opinions out of that spotlight, I thought I'd offer an observation here. One that no one will likely read.

Those who complain about a person being "too political," or being political at all, are almost universally complaining more truthfully about ideas being expressed that challenge or run contrary to their own. They are saying that such expressions force them to consider or reflect upon their own ideas, maybe even reconsider them. This becomes internalized as criticism. What if they're wrong? Are they being told they're wrong? This puts them on the defensive, suggesting that they might be wrong and another right when they themselves believe themselves to be correct and the speaker in question is wrong. It would be more honest to say, "I don't like having my beliefs/ideas challenged by those who express different or opposing beliefs and ideas." Of course, that sounds close-minded, which it is. So instead they insist that everyone who doesn't agree with them or share the same ideas should make them more comfortable by keeping what they think to themselves. It's an ultimately self-centered and largely narcissistic way of being in the world. 

York

 

The first stop of this sabbatical journey is York. Home to the York Mystery Plays, which get staged/performed every four years. When COVID hit I abandoned the original itinerary proposed to Lily for my grant because I didn't think, know, or really investigate whether Lincoln (which is where they were scheduled in 2020) was going to go forward with their COVID-delayed production. If so, I might never have come up with this alternative, and I'm so glad I did. That said, only eight plays in the 54-play cycle were chosen for production this year, down from the twelve that have been mounted in the past. This is likely due to the tail of COVID and the uncertainty that comes with it. I don't really know. 
What that means is that I've seen all the plays. Further production of them in the Shambles Market and again this coming Sunday will be more of what I've already experienced. I am happy that Marie and Yared got to see the first three plays performed in their traditional setting on the college green behind the Minster. We watched the musicians lead the wagons into place and strained at times to hear the performers over the ambient noise of Sunday city life. At one point a cyclist chose to ride down the street in front of where the Creation play was being performed. "God" ad-libbed at that point a thunderbolt for the offender. Fun. After the first three, we got a bit at a nearby pub and while sitting in the courtyard, watched as the fourth wagon made its way down the street with musicians leading it to the next location.

These plays were a wonderful blend of old and new. They use the old texts from one of the original cycles, so the language has the cadence and vocabulary of something antiquated. It takes some patience and resignation to know that you aren't going to catch all its meaning as your ear attempts to untangle it all. Similar to seeing Shakespear performed. That said, creative elements were introduced. The first wagon used rudimentary pulls, drops and even a little water spout for the whale as the first five days of creation unfolded. By contrast, the final wagon depicting the Last Judgment used amplified musicians and singers and much more elaborate costuming. The fall of Adam and Eve was performed by 14-year-olds from a local academy to great effect. And the crucifixion was movingly depicted by a local company of young actors with developmental disabilities. 

Since we likely won't take them in again (even though I bought tickets for this coming Sunday's performance as well) it's freed us up to experience other things in Yorkshire. We walked the wall, and enjoyed a mid-day drink in the garden of The Grey. We have taken in afternoon tea in the Belmont Room of Betty's; a room whose design was inspired by the interior of the Cunard line's Queen Mary. Today, we'll take the bus to visit Castle Howard and tomorrow we rent a car to drive to the moors and the seaside at Whitby. Grace has joined us and we are having a delightful time exploring and leaving plenty of time for unplanned stops and diversions as we find them. This is the freedom to explore that the sabbatical allows, and I am grateful.

Identity

 I'm reading a story about the debate among those providing care for teenagers who identify as transgender. The number of teens identifying with a gender different from their biological sex has increased dramatically. The debate comes as people attempt to explain the jump. Is it simply that the greater visibility of trans people in entertainment and celebrity culture has made it easier for individuals with some sort of gender incongruence to embrace it? Or is there a social influence factor that leads some kids to claim transgender status as a way of belonging to a popular trend? Arguments against social influence sound similar to the arguments that have been made for decades about same-sex attraction and sexual preference. Who would willingly choose to belong to one of the most maligned marginalized communities? People don't choose to be transgender any more than they choose to be gay. Still, I do wonder. 

I was having a conversation about this with my teenage son, trying to explain how the writer J.K. Rowling got into such hot water and was threatened with cancellation because of comments she's made that have been characterized as anti-trans. My understanding of those arguments is that they sound reminiscent of those made about issues of culture. To be physiologically female is a unique experience. While not absolute, it comes with the promise of bearing and feeding a human life; something that is bodily impossible for someone born biologically male. So then, Rowling's argument seems to proceed, there is something appropriative about the trans women. My question along these lines is this: what is the difference between a man who wants to identify as a woman, and a white person who seeks to identify with a culture not their own?

And since this isn't an essay that has to follow the rules of writing, here is a related thought to the number of young people who at the very least wish to identify as non-binary. Perhaps, what they are reacting to is the sometimes rigid roles that are still assigned to the biological binary of male/female. Is it really that they don't identify with their biological sex, or could it be possible that they reject the social constructs available to them as male or female? All of which leads me to a matter of faith. When Paul says that in Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male and female, could it be that to belong to Christ is to find our identity as beloved outside of whatever social construct would imprison us and keep us from living fully as human beings made in the image and likeness of God? Could it be that the most important thing about any of us is an identity that comes in the waters of baptism, an identity that supersedes all else?  I wonder.

Sabbatical thoughts

I didn't even check to see the last time I posted to this blog. Truth is, I don't expect anyone to read it. I certainly won't be sharing it on social media. In fact, one of the practices that I'm trying to follow during this fallow season is to refrain from posting on social media. I've liked a few posts and commented selectively on non-curch folk posts. But all the random thoughts that I want to post to Facebook will be reserved for this place to filter the fleeting thoughts and get to what's more essential and interesting. 

It's been one week (a day, or two more). The danger is that I'll pack too much into this time, try to do too much, and find myself less rested at the end, and not more. Some of it is housekeeping: selling Grace's car, getting my car serviced, haircut, voting, etc. What's funny is how quick the random thoughts come to me that end up on social media (usually in response to news reporting, or someone else's post). When it's just me, my mind goes blank. So I will let it. That's what sabbatical is for. It's for stopping, for not forcing, for resting and allowing the Spirit to restore my soul as I lay down in the green pasture of this time and do nothing more than make myself present to the moments as they come.