Why Whistling Matters (originally published and presented at Grass Valley UU Church November 2012)

In two days it will be Election Day.
Someone is going to win and someone is going to lose.

Propositions will succeed or they will fail...and I have no idea what the outcome of this election will be.

But I can tell you that as a nearly life-long progressive social justice activist and organizer, I've had a lot of experience working on campaigns that didn't win.

In fact, I've worked on many more failed campaigns then winning ones.

What I've learned as an organizer is that it's actually rare to win the first time.
We have to be in it for the long haul. With every loss, we must continue to build on the progress we achieved, and keep trying until we succeed. Most recently, we've seen this strategy working with marriage equality.

So yes, I fail. A lot. And while I may not see it at the time, in my failures there is always a seed of success. The success is in learning from mistakes.

In fact, many of my successes have been born out of failure. I bet I can safely say that we all have experienced failure in some way or another. And all of us have also experienced success. The thing is, unfortunately, some of our greatest successes aren't the kind you can necessarily list on a resume.

For example, I think about my dad.
He was a member of the 10th Mountain Division in WWII.
He was awarded a silver star and a purple heart.
He helped to build every house he lived in from the time he was 14 years old.
He had a successful professional career.
Yet I consider one of his biggest successes to be the day he spent teaching my 7 year old son how to whistle while repairing a fence.
But I can't think of where you'd list something like "I taught my grandson how to whistle" on a resume.

I think we need 2 resumes. One for all the professional work we've done and one for the stuff that actually really matters.

My son is 20 now. Whenever he picks up a hammer, he invariably whistles. Every once in a while, when he's whistling, he’ll stop, and get a big grin on his face, and ask me "Hey mom--Remember that day when Grandpa taught me how to whistle?"

Now that - that is something that really matters and something that would be on my dad's life resume.

I've been thinking about what really matters a lot. To me, the things that matter most are those that help us acknowledge and feel our interdependence -- with each other and with this beautiful planet we call home.

This was probably best modeled for me by my daughter and my beloved step-mom, Cynthia in 1985. At the same time, my step-mom also modeled the ability to acknowledge mistakes and turn them into successes.

Cynthia hand stitched a stuffed bear for my daughter's fourth birthday. My daughter loved it - it was never out of her sight from the moment she unwrapped it. This bear was truly a fine piece of artisanship - it had mohair fur, jointed limbs, and a music box from Germany that played beautifully.

A month after receiving the bear, My daughter and I drove up to visit my parents and we came across a particularly bad multi-car crash. We stopped and I did what I could while waiting for the paramedics to arrive.

One of the cars had a grandmother traveling with her 2 granddaughters, the youngest was my daughter’s age. The 2 girls were able to get out of the car, but the grandmother was trapped. As firefighters worked to free the grandmother, my daughter and I stayed with the 2 girls and she gave her bear to the youngest to hold on to while we waited.

The grandmother was soon freed from the car and transported to the hospital.
As the Highway Patrol came to take the girls to join their grandmother, the oldest girl tried to give my daughter back her bear.

My daughter wouldn't accept it and told the youngest to keep it because "it gave really good hugs".

I was an especially proud mom in that moment.

When we got to my parents house, we told them what happened. My step-mom was unhappy and pulled me aside and angrily told me that I had been very irresponsible in allowing my daughter to give away a gift that she had worked so hard to make. I was surprised by her reaction and told her so. I shared how precious the bear had been to my daughter and how proud I was when she chose to give it away to help another little girl feel better.

After we returned home, she wrote me a beautiful heart felt apology - it meant a lot. I definitely think that this experience would make it on both my daughter and step- mom's life resume.

I've been thinking about the kind of things that would go on that life resume.
The real and most significant of successes. Things like teaching your grandson how to whistle.

Or giving away a treasured bear.

Perhaps it's pausing to talk to that houseless person on the street instead of just walking by. Or choosing to reduce your carbon footprint by riding your bike to work instead of driving--even when its raining.

And there is a common thread.

They all seem to be about recognizing our interdependence--about connection.

You know, I volunteered with hospice for several years and witnessed a lot of conversations dying people had with their friends and families. Not once did I hear a dying person wish that they had gotten that promotion, bought more stuff or had a nicer car.

What I witnessed over and over again was that they all seemed to have a powerful need to look back and remember the moments of connection they had shared with their loved ones or to heal connections they felt had been broken.

Most of my significant failures seem to come about when I forget that I am connected to everyone else. When I act selfishly and not consider the effect my action might have on others. Whereas my most notable successes seem to occur when I am operating out of a place that taps into that connection. When I am mindful of our interdependence when I say or do something...

or choose not to say or do something.

But let me shift my sharing here, shift it to something that has been on so many UUs minds and hearts—particularly over the last week and a half.

The interdependence I just spoke of, that interdependence is probably why the issue of climate change is so important to me.
Because the choices I make,
the choices you make,
the choices our government makes
can significantly impact every other person, every other animal, every other living thing on this planet.
Take a moment to really think about that...
(pause)
It’s a very large thing to consider.

It can be both a bit overwhelming to contemplate and also sometimes easy to lose sight of.
Our choices, and the choices OUR government makes on our behalf, whether to act or not act, to speak out or stay silent, will help determine if countries around the globe will experience the kind of drought and climate driven natural disasters that will likely lead to the deaths of millions of people, animals, and plant species on our planet.

It's been really easy to think of the effects of climate change as something far in the future - even as we've learned about Greenland melting and record drought.

Experts have been trying to warn us that the earth has already changed and at a rate much faster than expected. 

And we have been ignoring them.

Except that last Monday, we had a very big wake up call when "Superstorm Sandy" hit the East Coast leaving devastation in its wake. Suddenly, climate change became personal. 

I was also extremely aware of the fact that the people in Haiti, after already being devastated by earthquake, had to weather Hurricane Sandy in the tents that have been their homes for the last 3 years since that earthquake hit. I cannot imagine how terrifying that must have been. I can only imagine what it must be like for the families searching for loved ones --knowing they DON'T have the comfort of relying on first responders or infrastructure as we do.

Worse, I know this is going to happen again.

As Al Roker said Friday, on the Today Show: "This is the new normal."
We have known this was coming and I suppose that is why one of the things that has disturbed me the most about the current election, is that neither of the two party candidates addressed climate change when debating each other.

For the first time since 1984, climate change was not addressed during the presidential debates. Not one word was mentioned.

Yet 15 current or former national security and military leaders from across the political spectrum have clearly stated that they believe climate change is a significant threat to our national security.

So no matter which way you want to look at it, whether you want to look at climate change as an environmental issue, or a national security issue, or simply an issue of survival, the fact is, we cannot ignore it.

It is not going away. And the potential for global catastrophe is very real, and up until last week, I would have said it was walking up the path to our collective front door. Now, after Sandy, I'd say it has knocked that door down.

3 months ago, in an article in the August 2 edition of Rolling Stone magazine, environmentalist, author, and founder of 350.org Bill McKibben laid out some simple math: we can burn 565 more gigatons of carbon and stay below 2°C of warming — anything more than that risks catastrophe for life on earth.

The only problem? Fossil fuel corporations now have 2,795 gigatons in their reserves, that’s five times the safe amount. And they are planning on burning it all. Not burning it would cost the fossil fuel corporations who own it roughly $27 trillion dollars. That's a lot of money. And I am fairly sure that is why Presidential candidates are not talking about climate change. Alienating some of your largest donors is politically unwise. And fossil fuel corporations are not going to give up that kind of profit unless we force them to.

It is very clear that this is our problem and we can no longer wait for someone else to solve it. We need to actively work together to bring about the changes we need to save this planet - our home. It may seem daunting. You may wonder: "How can I make a difference?"

British primatologist, anthropologist, and UN Messenger of Peace Jane Goodall said: "You cannot get through a single day without having an impact on the world around you. What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make."

My step-mom, Cynthia, took that message to heart.

10 years after my daughter gave away her bear, Cynthia died. At her memorial service, I was surprised to see a large group of police officers in attendance.

That's when I found out that my step-mom had made and donated a bear to the police EVERY MONTH from the time of that accident to be given to kids in crisis.

When she found out her cancer was terminal, the first thing she did was make 4 more bears to donate to make it an even 150 before she died.

I had no idea. But the police all knew the story well and were excited to meet my daughter, then 14, and let her know how her decision to give away her bear had inspired her grandma.

In fact, it inspired a program that eventually went state-wide.

I learned a lot from that experience. Because of course, there have been times when I have gotten angry, and said things that in retrospect I wish I hadn’t. And when that happens, I do try and make amends.

But before learning about my step-mom and the bears, I don't know that I would have thought about turning those mistakes into successes in quite the way she did. I find it perfectly illustrates how we never know how far out the ripples of our actions will spread - how many people we might influence, or the difference one regular person can make.

And each person influenced can go on to spread ripples of their own until we are able to achieve what we previously thought impossible. Like slowing down climate change.

In fact, Bill McKibben has a plan: Divestment. But his plan needs all of us making ripples to succeed.

Mckibben's model is based on the successful 1980s campaign to divest from companies doing business in apartheid South Africa. Spreading from campuses to municipal and state governments, it ultimately led to divestment in more than 25 states and 19 countries leading to an end to apartheid.

Nelson Mandela has often stated that the University of California's divestment of three billion dollars worth of investments was particularly significant in abolishing white- minority rule in South Africa.

McKibben is calling on us to mount a similar campaign and lobby institutional investors - such as colleges and universities, and municipal and state governments to divest all monies they have currently invested in fossil fuel corporations.

McKibben has acknowledged that it won't be easy. However he believes we must proceed based on the the assumption that “moral outrage, combined with indisputable math, can make a difference”. This campaign succeeded before and it can again. It took many years and many failures before the divestment campaign ultimately succeeded in ending apartheid in South Africa. We must be willing and committed to being in it for the long haul.

So, you may be wondering where you can you start? Well, a good place would be to initiate a local divestment campaign. Tina Vernon is the elected Nevada County treasurer and each year she brings forth an investment policy to be adopted by the Board of Supervisors. Start talking with Tina and your Board of Supervisors. 

Begin campaigning Sierra College and the government of Nevada County to divest their investments in fossil fuel corporations. Remember that this will take time. Raise awareness. Start talking about climate change with everyone. Help people remember their inter-dependence- their connection with one another and our earth...

As those devastated by Sandy start swinging their hammers to rebuild, we can join them by doing all we can to prevent this type of climate disaster from becoming a monthly occurrence. Together we can start swinging our hammers for change... and while we're doing it - let's remember to whistle.

As we go forward --let us be mindful of our interdependence. Let us strive to honor it. Let us support each other in our successes and our failures. And let our life resumes reflect and celebrate our interdependence, and those moments of connection when we send out ripples of change- because that is what really matters.

Blessed be. 

San Francisco Night Ministry (originally published 3014)

As I drove through the Tenderloin in San Francisco one afternoon I saw a woman who appeared to be in her 80's, trying to get back up on the sidewalk in her wheelchair.  She was traveling backwards, trying to propel the wheelchair up the curb cutout with her feet, but wasn't quite strong enough to make it.  

She had bags containing her worldly goods hanging from the handles and the look of resignation on her face was heart breaking.  A young man, who also appeared to be unhoused, walked over and helped her up on to the sidewalk. 

I have seen unhoused elderly in the Tenderloin nearly every day and their numbers have been increasing greatly.  Seeing unhoused elderly has always saddened me, but that day...that day I felt myself feeling especially sad.  I found myself once again thinking "How is it that a country with as much abundance as we have tolerate ANYONE being un-housed?  Particularly our elders?  Why weren't we putting as much energy into eradicating homelessness as we do to putting out fires?"  Because to me, thisis as much of an emergency as a 4 alarm fire.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Tenderloin, it is a neighborhood in San Francisco that has traditionally been home to the poorest of the poor.  Some call it "skid row".  

The neighborhood is home to drug dealers and prostitutes, poor families and elders living in subsidized housing, many barely subsisting while living in poverty, and the un-housed, many who sleep on the streets or in their cars if they aren't able to get into housing or shelters.  It is also home to the San Francisco Night Ministry, where I have been doing my Clinical Pastoral Education as a chaplain.

The San Francisco Night Ministry was founded 50 years ago by the San Francisco Council of Churches with the intention of reaching out to "street people" at night, when the only social services available were police, fire, and ambulance.  

They provide crisis intervention, counseling and referral services every night of the year from 10:00pm - 4:00am.  Night ministers walk the streets every night offering face to face conversations to those who are lonely, anxious, and afraid in the middle of the night, when crises are most acute and when social services aren't readily available.  

There are about 14 crisis lines in San Francisco, but Night Ministry is the only one who will talk with anyone about anything.  If someone wants a face to face conversation, they can make it happen.  They are unique in that way.  It is the longest running organization of its type in the United States.  

Last year, Night Ministry engaged in over 17 thousand significant conversations.  They served over 9 thousand meals, and provided hundreds of emergency interventions to the nearly 7,500 un-housed population of San Francisco - a population that is growing rapidly as income inequality widens.

The Rev. Lyle Beckman is the fourth and current Senior Night Minister.  The Rev. Don Stuart was the first- beginning in September of 1964.  In his vivid memoir, I'm Listening As Fast As I Can" he describes the beginning of his  "his ministry of presence, not preaching."  He wrote:

'I stood on the corner of Eddy and Taylor streets,  The neon hands of the clock of the Budweiser sign in the liquor store across the street told me it was 11:30 pm.  By the number of people milling about, it could have been the middle of the afternoon.  The corner was the Times Square of illicit activity in the center of the Tenderloin district.  This was where the action was.  Whatever you wanted could be found within the toss of a beer bottle from where I stood."

At the time Night Ministry was founded, the streets of San Francisco were filling up with young runaways, gay refugees, and a growing population of rootless people of all stripes.  San Francisco police routinely harassed and arrested people in the LGBTQ community.  It was illegal to touch a person of the same sex in a provocative way, as was dancing with someone of the same sex.  Transgendered people were especially targeted for harassment as it was illegal to cross dress, so police were known to use the presence of transgendered people as a pretext to raid and close down bars.  

One place that transgendered folk liked to meet was Compton's Cafeteria which was located at Taylor and Turk in the Tenderloin.  Preceding the more famous Stonewall riots, Compton's Cafeteria was the site of the countries first transgender and transsexual riots in the country in response to police violence.

From the beginning, San Francisco Night Ministry ministered to members of the GLBTQ community -- reaching out to them at a time when few members of the clergy would.  For 50 years, they have been a source of support and comfort to the GLBTQ community--most especially to those in crisis.  

As a result, Night Ministry's relationship with the GLBTQ community is especially strong and the community has been a strong supporter of Night Ministry.  In fact, the applause and shouts of support when Night Ministry marches in the San Francisco Pride parade each year is a pretty impressive thing to witness.

So what does a typical night with San Francisco Night Ministry look like?  We walk the streets in neighborhoods across San Francisco.  We're pretty easy to spot - we wear clerical collars and walk very slowly so that folks we encounter have time to check us out and feel comfortable enough to talk with us.  We also hang out in bars and coffee shops, listening to people who have things weighing on their hearts.  

As we walk the streets, we are often asked for money, but we don't carry cash.  Once that has been established, most of the people we encounter simply want to be seen and heard.

I recall an encounter soon after I started with Night Ministry.  We began talking with a man who had been in multiple foster care homes his entire childhood and was turned out at age 18 with zero safety net. He has been on the streets ever since. He was my age but looked 20 years older. He first expressed his anger over all the people he encounters every day who don't look at him or even acknowledge his existence. Then a senior minister held him as he sobbed and sobbed. Out of the depths of his anguish, he cried out "I'm human too!"  This was heartbreaking to witness and also for me, a clear reminder of our first principle.

It made me think about all the times in my life that I have hurried past the unhoused people on the street, carefully avoiding eye contact in the hopes of not being pan handled.  

All the times I have walked past people sleeping in doorways without really SEEING them.  

All the many micro aggressions people on the street must face as they are dehumanized over and over by the hundreds of people who pass them by and refuse to even acknowledge their very existence.  

As I watched this man sob into the shoulder of the minister who held him, I vowed that I would live my faith and walk my talk.  The first UU principle doesn't say "we respect the inherent worth and dignity of those who are of an "appropriate" social status or class".  It says "we respect the inherent worth and dignity of all people."

To do that, I first had to be willing to confront my own prejudices and fears.  I had to acknowledge that deep down, part of me held on to some misguided beliefs and judgments about the un-housed.  That their being on the streets was somehow their own fault.  Either they weren't trying hard enough to find a job, utilize services to help, had done something to "deserve it" or any of the myriad reasons one can come up with to blame them.  

These prejudices were hard things to face.  I'm an activist and organizer - have been for over 30 years.  I am a very liberal, open minded Unitarian Universalist, for goodness sake!  

Logically, I understood most of the societal issues that were behind homelessness. Yet, in a very deep place within me, there was unspoken prejudice and I needed to face it so I could begin to let it go.

Letting it go become a lot easier after I began talking with people on the streets.  I encounter veterans trying to navigate the system in order to get the treatment and benefits they earned and need - usually without success.  

I speak with the disabled who sleep in wheelchairs and are unable to afford rent in spite of their SSI payments.  

I speak with far too many elderly who have lost their housing and are forced out on to the streets.  

I have spoken with a brilliant former faculty member of a large university whose mental health issues cost him his job but who was hoping to get the treatment he needed so that he could continue his research and lead a productive life.  

I speak with far too many youth and young adults.  Youth who are often self identified as members of the GLBTQ community and whose parents have kicked them out for it--something that in spite of all our successes with marriage equality, still happens with frequency in this day and age.  

And I speak with young adults, many of them aged out of the foster care system and living on the streets.  

I also speak with families forced to give up their housing when an adult loses a job.  

Many of the marginalized people we work with live in SRO's - single room occupancy housing- one step away from living on the streets.  Many of the SRO units are quite squalid.  1 bathroom for an entire floor- imagine a hotel with only 1 bathroom per floor of rooms - you get the picture..  

The rooms are barely larger than a twin bed mattress.  They are often vermin infested and there are no kitchens.   For this, they pay $700./mo.  Yes, that is correct.  $700.  

When I first saw these units, I wanted to immediately do something - anything - to help improve the conditions these folks were living in.  I was asked not to intervene.  I was told that these things are complicated - if they are reported, instead of improving conditions for the residents, the owners will instead evict everyone, do a complete renovation and convert to condos, selling at an astronomical profit to the tech employees flooding the neighborhoods.  Squalor is better than the streets, so no one talks.  So instead, we try to assist those we can in getting into better housing, make referrals when requested, and listen to their stories.

And even in the SRO's, you see neighbors helping neighbors.  It never fails to move me when I see those who are most marginalized and have so very little offering to share what they have with someone who has even less...or more...because in the majority of cases, those we are visiting offer to share what little they have with us - even if it is simply a bottle of water.  They consistently demonstrate a sense of community that is inspiring and which surprised me when I first started working in the Tenderloin. 

One visit that I will especially remember was with a man who nearly lost his life due to years of drug use.  Suicidal, he called Night Ministry.  That night a night minister drove to where he was and stayed with him.  This minister continued ministering to this man without judgment --through years of drug use, attempts to get clean, and stints on the street.   When I met him, he was celebrating being clean and sober for two years.  He proudly told us about his job, re-connecting with his family, and showed off his new housing in a nicer building in the Tenderloin.  His room was lovely - the floor gleamed - he had spent hours polishing it.  

He had decorated his room with gorgeous crystals and his own art which was beautiful and spiritual in nature.  He shared how good his life was and how much he was looking forward to getting his teeth worked on.  

He then got very quiet and asked if we would join him in a prayer.  He held our hands and said he owed his life to Night Ministry and the minister who never gave up on him.  He asked his higher power to bless us both and in tears, looked me right in the eyes and said - "you DO make a difference!"  At that moment, he was ministering to me.  I had been struggling internally with all the poverty and suffering I had been witnessing and wondering if the work we were doing helped at all.  I had my answer.  

Working with Night Ministry also has a fun side.  We are regularly invited to attend and sometimes judge drag shows by performers who we have supported over the years.  

I had one of the best Easters in recent memory when we were invited by the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence to attend the "Hunky Jesus" contest in Golden Gate Park and afterward help celebrate the awards ceremony which was also a fundraiser benefitting San Francisco Night Ministry. 

The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence® are a leading-edge Order of queer nuns. They are devoted to community service, ministry and outreach to those on the edges, and to promoting human rights, respect for diversity and spiritual enlightenment. They believe all people have a right to express their unique joy and beauty and use humor and irreverent wit to expose the forces of bigotry, complacency and guilt that chain the human spirit.  

Is it any wonder why this UU chaplain likes them so much?  

That Easter Sunday, Sisters from all over the country filled Cafe Flora and the adjacent blocked off street. I am sure that tourists passing by may have been a little confused by the site of collared ministers and chaplains joyously dancing with the creatively dressed and made up Sisters.  

Later that evening, after being tagged in several photos with draq queens and Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, someone posted "you have the best CPE EVER!"  I couldn't agree more.

And it is not just the fun that makes it the best.  It is the relationships that I have with those I minister to as well as the night ministers I work with.  It is the realization that this work has irrevocably changed me.  It is the many ways this work embodies the principles of my Unitarian Universalist faith.  It is the constant and visible reminders of our inter-connectedness.

There are many ways you can support San Francisco Night Ministry.  The first and most obvious way is financially - they receive no public funding and do not charge for their services.  

You can also volunteer to be a crisis line counselor 

...and you can walk out one evening with Night Ministry and experience for yourself the heartache and hope that is at the heart of their work.  

As Thomas Merton said "The truth that many people never understand until it is too late is that the more you try to avoid suffering, the more you suffer."  To that, I would add that in the midst of that suffering are moments of exquisite beauty - beauty that would be missed if we avert our eyes.

Blessed be, and peace to you all.

The Power of Fear (originally published November 2016)

2 years ago I was in the midst of this, the most stressful episode in my life. I wish I could say that there had been some type of reconciliation. Sadly, there was never a response to our letter (below), which I read to representatives of the Ad hoc committee (one of which was a SKSM Board member) and their legal representatives at a meeting they demanded, which was recorded by a court reporter they hired. By agreement, we were supposed to receive a copy of the transcript, which was never supplied.

Even after a student came forward and confessed, and completely cleared me by name, representatives of the school never acknowledged that they had made a mistake or apologized.

SKSM broke my heart as did the many colleagues (including senior ministers) who, without any accurate or personal knowledge, voiced their opinions on social media, questioned my fitness to ministry, and for all intents and purposes, shunned me both personally and professionally (and still are).

Why am I talking about this now? Because it still hurts (deeply) and also because I am still struggling with forgiveness. I'm also struggling with coming to grips with the disparity between our stated UU Principles and unwillingness to walk our talk when we are the ones who are acting unjustly.

In the midst of all this, I also recognize that this entire episode taught me invaluable lessons--lessons about withholding judgement until I have all the facts. Lessons about how immensely powerful fear can be and how it can be used to silence large groups of people. And the biggest lesson of all, (and something I had hoped to discover about myself but didn't know for sure until my feet were held to the proverbial fire): that I am willing to stand for what is right and ethical, even at great personal cost.

And there it is. Why I'm talking about this now. Fear is a powerful silencer, and I don't believe I am alone in my grave concerns about the incoming president and his cabinet. If we continue our descent and embrace the fascism that seems to be waiting around the corner, will those of us with more privilege allow fear to silence us as those with less are brutalized? Will we be able to resist the pull of ensuring our own safety at the expense of others? And on a personal note: will I have the strength to survive another ethical and moral battle? I hope so.

However, I also know that I could not have survived the "mess at Starr King" if it hadn't been for the love, strength, and commitment of the friends and colleagues who supported me--sometimes in very material ways, and sometimes with perfectly timed funny cat videos.

We are going to need each other's love and support in order to sustain our commitment for the long haul. I am going to need you and you are going to need me. There will be easier days and there will be hard days...and then there will be excruciating days. And those, especially, are the days when we will need to dig deep and be there to prop each other up. I promise to do all I can to support you and those in need of support--I ask that you do the same.

May we resist giving into fear, and on the days we feel shaky, may we find many hands and hearts reaching out and giving us the strength and love we need to succeed.

(Note: my apologies for the ableist language--I could use some help for an equally strong word to replace "stand".)

Letter Read to Ad hoc Committee November 6, 2014

Dear Ad Hoc Committee,

We come today seeking reconciliation with Starr King School for the Ministry. May we first state that we bear great love for the school and cherish the many lessons taken from our time as students there. Chief among those lessons we have learned is to strive for compassionate communication that upholds anti-oppressive values.

We are deeply disappointed that the school has chosen to respond in a manner that does not reflect these values.

No evidence has been provided that we have had a part in the strapped student email, and no justification has been given for withholding of our degrees, which has had a severe financial and spiritual impact on our lives.

We have been very forthcoming and participated fully in the restorative justice process. At no time did a representative of the school or the board utilize direct address to express any concerns they may have had. Instead we were informed the night before graduation that we would not be receiving our degrees. At that time we were also informed that a committee was being formed to investigate us. In light of the school’s threats of legal action against students, the serious hardship created by the board’s decision to withhold our degrees and the demand that we relinquish our right to privacy and violate pastoral confidentiality, we were forced to seek legal counsel.

Our attorney contacted the school’s attorneys in May, 2014, to try to open communication regarding our degrees, but the only response we have received has been a demand that we turn over our personal computers and emails. We still desire open, healing communication. At this time, the only communication we are being offered is to answer questions by a lawyer and one member of the committee who will make recommendations to the Starr King Board of Trustees. We feel a conversation, rather than a one sided interrogation, is befitting of religious professionals and justice seeking people. We further believe that it is imperative that we are allowed to speak directly with all members of the committee, to ensure good communication, and that a transcription is not a substitute for personal interaction.

We also do not wish to give up our right to privacy or break UUMA guidelines regarding collegial confidentiality by turning over our emails or laptops. Doing this would set a dangerous precedent and send the message that we agree that an institution with power should be able to wield that power over those with less power in order to compel them to give up privacy and confidentiality. It would also put our careers into further jeopardy by compromising relationships with colleagues and demonstrating an inability to hold confidential communications. Several colleagues have contacted us and stated explicitly that they do not want us turning over communications from or to them to Starr King. Starr King has yet to give us a reason they seek to view our communications. We would like to know on what basis or by what source Starr King is targeting us.

Let us be clear, neither of us sent the email by “strapped student.” Neither of us knows who did. There is nothing in our email or on our laptops that would lead the school to find the identity of that person. We do not agree with the anonymous manner in which “strapped student” sent the email, as shown by each of our long histories of speaking openly and honestly owning and airing our views and the views we were elected to air as student leaders.

Additionally, and more to the point, we are very concerned that the school has diverted considerable attention and resources in its quest to find and punish the email sender, instead of choosing to address the serious issues raised by that email, which the president of the board of trustees has acknowledged are longstanding.

We ask in earnest to be able to engage in the kind of communication that we learned at Starr King: open, compassionate, anti-oppressive communication that seeks healing and justice. However, while the school insists on using the significant power they have over us to continue an unfounded investigation into our involvement, with little regard for the direct damage this investigation is having on our lives and careers, we have only this statement to submit.

With hope for future reconciliation,

Julie and Suzi

http://beachledermanlaw.com/suzi-and-julies-nov-6-2014-statement/

Bittersweet Memory (originally published April 2016)

It was bittersweet seeing this photo pop up from two years ago. Two years ago, I preached a pretty darn good sermon focused on social justice. After talking with folks after the service, I headed to my car to make the 2-1/2 hour drive home to Berkeley. I was tired- I'd driven down the day before. Kind congregants had generously offered me home hospitality, and as often happens when I meet interesting people, I stayed up far too late conversing, especially considering I had to get up early to preach in the morning.

As I got into my car and turned my phone on, I discovered I'd missed many calls, emails, and texts. It turned out that while I had been preaching my sermon, someone had publicly sent out an anonymous email critical of my school's recent presidential search and which including Survey Monkey results which the school claimed were confidential.

I had nothing to do with the email, however my school either felt I sent it, or that I knew who had. At least, that's what I guess. No one from the administration of Starr King School for the Ministry ever spoke with me. Ever. They never once directly addressed me. I did speak to a restorative justice person the school hired and honestly answered their questions, but in spite of that, the school notified me the night before my graduation that they were withholding my degree. They demanded I meet with their legal representative and provide all my electronic communications as one of the conditions of giving me the degree I had worked so hard to earn. Later, they went on to demand my personal computer.

I could have easily provided them with what they wanted to clear my name. However, turning over all my electronic communications/emails would have meant breaking the UUMA Guidelines I had agreed to uphold as a candidate for ministry; it would have meant breaking the confidentiality of my colleagues and of people I had been pastoring - people that were in no way associated with the school, but who expected my confidentiality. It would also have meant breaking the confidentiality of activists all over the country that I had worked with--people I had built solid relationships with over many years, including DREAMERS and others whose very safety could have been compromised.

I felt quite strongly about the school demanding I give up one of my essential rights to privacy -especially considering that the school proudly holds up its reputation as one of supporting social justice and striving to build a just and sustainable world.

Lastly, and in no way of less importance, I realised that if I allowed the school to successfully use the withholding of my earned degree to coerce me into giving up a civil right, the precedent would be set and they could do it again. As a former student representative to the school's Board of Trustees, I simply could not set that precedent. I needed to protect future students from the same terrible experience.

The irony of my school demanding I break confidentiality in order for them to find out who leaked documents they claimed were confidential was not lost on me. I got a lawyer and asked for her help in getting my degree released-a degree I needed in order to be hired as a chaplain.

Over the next few months, there were several articles covering the story in the UU World, and the New York Times also picked up the story. While the coverage was honest and quite sympathetic to me, the actions of many of my colleagues were not.

What I went through during that year was beyond dreadful. Uninvolved colleagues who hadn't spoken to me about what happened began posting their opinions on social media. Many posted extremely disparaging things about me, including some who speculated that I was unfit for ministry. People whom I had thought were friends stopped speaking to me. Seminarians who had stayed in my home, who I had danced with, who had called on me in times of trouble (sometimes in the middle of the night) not only stopped talking to me, they were even too afraid to "like" my posts on Facebook out of fear of what the school might do. Colleagues that I truly trusted and loved turned their backs and haven't spoken to me since.

This broke my heart. It broke my heart and made me question my faith. I lost my faith community at a time when I desperately needed it the most.

To be very clear-there was a small group of amazingly beautiful, steadfast friends and colleagues who spoke up and out for me. Who stood by me even when it was hard-incredibly hard. Who publicly supported me, often taking a lot of criticism for doing so. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't have made it through.

At the same time, I was essentially judged, condemned, and shunned, by a large segment of the UU world for something I didn't do. I can't express how much this hurt. I gained weight. My blood pressure went up. I stopped dancing. I experienced incredible grief. I was left not knowing who I could trust.

The joy I experienced as I traveled my path to UU ministry dimmed and sputtered. I once had sped through multiple GA's and national actions, camera gear in hand, smiling widely as I photographed everyone and everything. I was left no longer feeling welcome.

What really hurt-what hurts still, and what this photograph reminds me, is that the minister of the church I preached at that Sunday was involved in the decisions made at my school. They knew I was in their pulpit when that email was sent and therefore knew I couldn't have sent it. Yet they never spoke out.

Later, when the person responsible come forward and absolved me of any involvement, there was not a whisper from the school. No olive branch was extended, no apology issued. My degree was sent to my attorney's office, stuffed in a postal service envelope, without even a simple note attached.

Now, two years later, I still haven't had a direct conversation with any administrator from Starr King. What I have had have been questions from prospective employers concerned about "things they've heard."

I'm doing all I can to try to get to a place of forgiveness. It's hard. Incredibly hard. I hope one day to get there. I also hope time will mend my broken heart...and I'm grateful beyond measure that I continue to have hope. I most especially look forward to the day when I can view this photograph and only be reminded of the day I preached a pretty darn good sermon.

My Car (originally published 16 March 2016)

Tonight I had a conversation with someone who labelled moral outrage as emotionally immature. As someone who is often outraged by injustice, I felt judged-a definite trigger for me. As I examined my feelings, and my 35+ years of activism and social justice work, I was able to identify that outrage is only one piece of what motivates me. It's the spark plug that creates the ignition needed to drive the engine. I would say compassion, empathy, and a desire for justice combine to create the engine. Love is the fuel. Without all of these elements, the car won't drive. Creativity and hope make the car fun to drive. It will drive without them, but the drive is so much more enjoyable with them on board.

I don't want to eliminate any of these elements. I need them all. Sometimes outrage is uncomfortable. It contains anger and anger can feel overwhelming. However, as long as there is injustice, I would never want to trade my outrage for a more pleasant emotion. I need that engine to start so that I can continue on the journey. I also need compassion, empathy, love, creativity, and hope--in fact, in greater measure.

I dream of a just world. I dream of no longer needing the spark of outrage -of living in a world where my car could be forever parked in a beautiful meadow while we all danced around it. Until that day, I will continue to drive, grateful that the fuel is unlimited, and also good for the earth.

The Cost of Moral Injury (originally published in 2012)

I've been thinking about my dad a lot today.  He was a member of the 10th Mountain Division ski troops during WWII.  He was one of the very few in his regiment to come home alive.  He returned with a Silver Star, a Purple Heart, and a broken soul.  He became a life long advocate for peace.  He also never spoke about his experiences during the war.

He'd tell funny stories about training at Camp Hale, located in the heart of the Rocky Mountains - elevation 9,300 feet.  How the men, already elite skiers, were taught mountain climbing and snow survival skills.  How they burned so many calories during training that they were each given half a pie for dessert.  They were also given free cigarettes and since my father didn't smoke, he'd trade his for more pie.  He said one night he ate 3 whole pies and he was still hungry.  I believe it.

One of the few photographs I have of him from that time shows a very handsome, lean man standing on the side of a snow covered mountain with his wooden skis slung over one shoulder.  He was smiling widely and looked relaxed and carefree.  The photograph was made at Camp Hale before he shipped out.

Once these men arrived in Northern Italy, they did things I have difficulty imagining.  Scaling the 2,000 foot vertical sides of Riva Ridge in the Apennines mountains in the dark of night... while carrying all their gear, skis, and guns with only strap on metal crampons attached to their boots.  I learned that from an old 10th Mountain Division newsletter.  I didn't learn it from my dad because my dad couldn't talk about the war.  Once, when I told him I was going to an anti-war protest in 2003 prior to the beginning of the Iraq War, he quietly said - "that's a really good thing you all are doing.  If only everyone understood that war is the hardest on women and children..."  his voice trailed off and when I asked what he meant - he changed the subject.

The men of WWII were in a tough place when they came home.  They were heroes of "the Good War" and culturally conditioned not to talk about feelings.  So they kept them inside.  They didn't talk about PTSD then.  There wasn't a lot of information available about coping with the horrors of war when they returned home.  So they stayed silent and in my father's case, busy.  He threw himself into his work and his hobbies.   He didn't allow himself time to reflect or remember.

By the time he met my mom, he had gotten pretty good at doing the things that society said a man must do.  He had a good job.  He drove a nice car.  He even got his pilot's license.  He also came home from the war with a temper and you never knew when he would yell.  He was obsessive about security when we were home alone without him.  He installed many locks and would get very upset if he came home and discovered we had missed one.  I remember one time I overheard him yell at my mom "You don't have any god damn idea what they could do to you and Suzi do you?!?"  I didn't really know what he meant, but it scared me - I could tell whatever it was, it was very bad.

I knew something was wrong with my dad, I just never really knew what it was.  Now I do.  My dad was suffering from moral injury.  What is moral injury?  Dr. Gabriella Lettini and Dr. Rita Nakashima Brock, authors of the recently released book "Soul Repair: Recovering from Moral Injury after War" define moral injury as "a negative self-judgment based on having transgressed core moral beliefs and values or on feeling betrayed by authorities. It is reflected in the destruction of a moral identity and loss of meaning. Its symptoms include shame, survivor guilt, depression, despair, addiction, distrust, anger, a need to make amends and the loss of a desire to live."

Dr. Brett Litz, a clinical psychologist with the Department of Veterans Affairs defines a moral injury experience as "perpetrating, failing to prevent, bearing witness to or learning about acts that transgress deeply held moral beliefs and expectations."
Litz and his colleagues are advocating for an increase of research into the issue of moral injury.  They argue that "service members who don't talk to loved ones, clergy or some other confidant will become convinced what they did is unforgivable, leading to recognized symptoms of withdrawal, self-condemnation and avoidance."

My father, like many men who came home from WWII, didn't talk to anyone.  His unrecognized injury destroyed my parent's marriage.  They divorced when I was 4.

When I was 6, my father married my beloved step-mom Cynthia.  For the first time in my life, I saw glimpses of the man my dad must have been before the war.  They were never apart from the time they got married until her death decades later.   Even so, with the exception of Cynthia, he was still emotionally distant and even though we would do things together, I always felt like there was a barrier between my dad and the rest of the world.

Decades later, I took care of Cynthia when she was in hospice and we had many deep conversations.  One day I finally got up the courage to ask her about my dad- why he was distant.  She grew quiet and then said "First, you need to know your dad loves you very much.  When we met, we were both carrying very heavy burdens.  We were able to share them with each other.  He knows I love and see ALL of him.  I know he loves and sees ALL of me."  She then told me that the war had come close to completely breaking him and before they met, only his incredible will and strength kept him together.

After Cynthia died, my dad and I spent a lot of time together.  He still didn't talk about the war.  When he was 90 I went to visit him and he suddenly started to cry.  I had only seen my dad cry once before-- when Cynthia died.  I just held him while he cried and he finally cried out "I'm so glad you do what you do.  I wish I'd had the courage to go throw my medals in Bush's face!"  That was all he said.  But it was in that moment that I realized just how much the war had cost him.

We all count the deaths.  We all count the injured.  We all can calculate the dollars spent.  I wonder if we have ever calculated all that has been lost among the living?  How many men (and now women) return with parts of them missing - invisible parts that they cannot file a claim for?  How many men like my father lose their connection with those they love and the rest of society?  How many families never get to welcome home the person that left?  Never get to see their parent care free and smiling?  These are some of the costs of moral injury.  A deeper and more final cost is that many of those suffering from moral injury ultimately commit suicide.

I am grateful that my dad did not choose this path.  I am grateful he had moments free from anguish thanks to Cynthia's wisdom and love.  I recognize that many do not have those anguish free moments and my heart aches for them...and my heart aches for all the families who will never again know their loved ones without injured souls.  I  continue to do what I can to actively oppose war but now I do it with the image of my care-free and smiling dad firmly attached inside my heart.