the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart
(Lord, make us instruments of your peace.)
Freedom of speech is one of the great things about this country. I have always believed this, and I expect that I always will. Sometimes, however, I'm reminded that there are two sides to every coin. You see, it seems that this past weekend there was a convention in town. A group of like-minded people, who'd traveled from all over the country; strong in their convictions and convinced of their own rightness, and perhaps of their own righteousness as well. We've all heard their words before, from the mouths of those represented by the likes of Fred Phelps and Operation Save America. This weekend, gathered together in numbers and with the strength of their beliefs behind them, they selected a few locations to focus on in order to express their opinions through staging protests.
My cathedral church was one of them.
(Where there is hatred, let us sow love;)
The thing is, it wasn't really a surprise. It's happened before; Palm Sundays and Easter Sundays, usually, but occasionally on seemingly-random days as well. It's almost -- I like to think of it as a sign that there's something right about what the church is trying to do. "Welcoming and inclusive of all" are some of the words that describe the character we try to cultivate both in ourselves individually and in the community as a whole, through a variety of ways. I love my church. I love the fact that it's an active part of efforts such as the Abrahamic Initiative; I love the fact that a youth group outing was organized to go see The Matrix and then to talk about the philosophies therein afterwards; I love the people there and the community that I feel a part of, with intelligent discussion and shared ideas and the common ground that we all seek to find; and on another level, I also love the stone building with stained glass and the music that soars within it, and what all of it together stands for. Joy. Light. Love.
As for the protesters, well, usually it's just a few people -- two or three, maybe five -- with violently colored signs bearing horrific images, carrying megaphones and yelling from street corners. This time, however, we were warned in advance that it was going to be different... by the busload.
(where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith;)
An email went out to the cathedral community: reassuring, encouraging, offering options -- such as places to drop off children so they could be protected from the sights and sounds. They target the children, you see-- we've seen that happen before, as well. They target the children.
There were additional suggestions for parking and alternate doors to enter, assurance that it would be all right, and that we'd all get through it together. And as part of that email, a call was put out for volunteers "with a calm demeanor" to help escort people through the gathered protesters and into the safety of the cathedral.
I was one of those who volunteered.
(where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy.)
Why? Because I knew that I could. Over the space of many years, I've been fortunate enough to develop the ability to remain calm in the face of stress. It's served me well in a variety of situations, and therefore I knew that this was something that I could offer and a way that I could, perhaps, help. And I wanted to help. To stand. To support what I believe in, and to deny, with every breath of my very being, the forces of that which I see as -- you guessed it -- Discordia.
I'm not talking about the people, mind you. I'm talking about the methods. Anger and hatred and violence of thought expressed, that corruption which poisons by its very touch.
Anyway. There were several of us there with the same idea, and we met in advance to receive advice on how to face the situation. No confrontation at all, no direct engagement-- this was the most important thing. We were asked to keep ourselves physically between the protesters and those who were coming to church as much as possible; to be a reassuring presence, and to welcome. After this, we were sent out by ones and twos to the different entrances of the cathedral -- because the cathedral was surrounded, by this time. I was one of those who went to help at the front entrance.
(Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love.)
I don't know how many protesters were there, in the end. I counted at least fifteen from where I could see at the front, and I don't know what it was like at the other two main entrances. There were also a large number of police, as well as strong support from the Guardian Angels. Everyone was very professional, and things stayed peaceful, for which I remain grateful. There were people on corners with signs, a system with a microphone which amplified their message just below the level that would get them cited for noise pollution, and several that moved back and forth with pamphlets in an attempt to stop people and engage and disturb them. There were also a lot of cameras. Video, film, digital -- both sides were recording the events.
There were, however, no truly direct, extremely unpleasant confrontations. I myself had a number of minor skirmishes, I guess you could say, with several of the protesters as they tried through insults to get me to pay attention. It was neatly orchestrated; no physical interaction, because that would have gotten them arrested. No long-term harrassment, nothing more than a few moments at a time. I spent a lot of the morning talking with other volunteers and churchgoers, and looking at sunlight through the tree leaves, while casually walking between protesters and their targets. It really was pretty outside, despite it all.
I will forever be encouraged by the general attitude of those who came to the church service yesterday morning. Determined, hopeful, cheerfully upbeat-- some were afraid, some angry, but we all tried to discourage that feeling, for everyone's sake-- between the time I arrived and the time service started, I walked with several of them to the door, and did my best to present something of the same positive concept. "Thank you for being here. It's a beautiful day. Be welcome. Enjoy the service. We're glad you came."
(For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.)
And I am also encouraged by the lesson that was offered yesterday morning, both through experience and from the words the sub-dean shared in his homily. "Welcoming and inclusive of all," as I said somewhere above, and that was the point and the focus. Not judging, which is key. Affirming life, affirming the community, affirming the message and what it is that we all hope to do in this world. In a way, the entire experience brought us all closer together -- it made us think and examine, and reinforced that which we believe.
Denying Discordia. That's what it's all about.
After service, I stayed with the rest at the last as I did at the first, until everyone was safely out. And then I went home, windows rolled down and music turned up, because it really was a beautiful day.
(Amen.)
Freedom of speech is one of the great things about this country. I have always believed this, and I expect that I always will. Sometimes, however, I'm reminded that there are two sides to every coin. You see, it seems that this past weekend there was a convention in town. A group of like-minded people, who'd traveled from all over the country; strong in their convictions and convinced of their own rightness, and perhaps of their own righteousness as well. We've all heard their words before, from the mouths of those represented by the likes of Fred Phelps and Operation Save America. This weekend, gathered together in numbers and with the strength of their beliefs behind them, they selected a few locations to focus on in order to express their opinions through staging protests.
My cathedral church was one of them.
(Where there is hatred, let us sow love;)
The thing is, it wasn't really a surprise. It's happened before; Palm Sundays and Easter Sundays, usually, but occasionally on seemingly-random days as well. It's almost -- I like to think of it as a sign that there's something right about what the church is trying to do. "Welcoming and inclusive of all" are some of the words that describe the character we try to cultivate both in ourselves individually and in the community as a whole, through a variety of ways. I love my church. I love the fact that it's an active part of efforts such as the Abrahamic Initiative; I love the fact that a youth group outing was organized to go see The Matrix and then to talk about the philosophies therein afterwards; I love the people there and the community that I feel a part of, with intelligent discussion and shared ideas and the common ground that we all seek to find; and on another level, I also love the stone building with stained glass and the music that soars within it, and what all of it together stands for. Joy. Light. Love.
As for the protesters, well, usually it's just a few people -- two or three, maybe five -- with violently colored signs bearing horrific images, carrying megaphones and yelling from street corners. This time, however, we were warned in advance that it was going to be different... by the busload.
(where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith;)
An email went out to the cathedral community: reassuring, encouraging, offering options -- such as places to drop off children so they could be protected from the sights and sounds. They target the children, you see-- we've seen that happen before, as well. They target the children.
There were additional suggestions for parking and alternate doors to enter, assurance that it would be all right, and that we'd all get through it together. And as part of that email, a call was put out for volunteers "with a calm demeanor" to help escort people through the gathered protesters and into the safety of the cathedral.
I was one of those who volunteered.
(where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy.)
Why? Because I knew that I could. Over the space of many years, I've been fortunate enough to develop the ability to remain calm in the face of stress. It's served me well in a variety of situations, and therefore I knew that this was something that I could offer and a way that I could, perhaps, help. And I wanted to help. To stand. To support what I believe in, and to deny, with every breath of my very being, the forces of that which I see as -- you guessed it -- Discordia.
I'm not talking about the people, mind you. I'm talking about the methods. Anger and hatred and violence of thought expressed, that corruption which poisons by its very touch.
Anyway. There were several of us there with the same idea, and we met in advance to receive advice on how to face the situation. No confrontation at all, no direct engagement-- this was the most important thing. We were asked to keep ourselves physically between the protesters and those who were coming to church as much as possible; to be a reassuring presence, and to welcome. After this, we were sent out by ones and twos to the different entrances of the cathedral -- because the cathedral was surrounded, by this time. I was one of those who went to help at the front entrance.
(Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love.)
I don't know how many protesters were there, in the end. I counted at least fifteen from where I could see at the front, and I don't know what it was like at the other two main entrances. There were also a large number of police, as well as strong support from the Guardian Angels. Everyone was very professional, and things stayed peaceful, for which I remain grateful. There were people on corners with signs, a system with a microphone which amplified their message just below the level that would get them cited for noise pollution, and several that moved back and forth with pamphlets in an attempt to stop people and engage and disturb them. There were also a lot of cameras. Video, film, digital -- both sides were recording the events.
There were, however, no truly direct, extremely unpleasant confrontations. I myself had a number of minor skirmishes, I guess you could say, with several of the protesters as they tried through insults to get me to pay attention. It was neatly orchestrated; no physical interaction, because that would have gotten them arrested. No long-term harrassment, nothing more than a few moments at a time. I spent a lot of the morning talking with other volunteers and churchgoers, and looking at sunlight through the tree leaves, while casually walking between protesters and their targets. It really was pretty outside, despite it all.
I will forever be encouraged by the general attitude of those who came to the church service yesterday morning. Determined, hopeful, cheerfully upbeat-- some were afraid, some angry, but we all tried to discourage that feeling, for everyone's sake-- between the time I arrived and the time service started, I walked with several of them to the door, and did my best to present something of the same positive concept. "Thank you for being here. It's a beautiful day. Be welcome. Enjoy the service. We're glad you came."
(For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.)
And I am also encouraged by the lesson that was offered yesterday morning, both through experience and from the words the sub-dean shared in his homily. "Welcoming and inclusive of all," as I said somewhere above, and that was the point and the focus. Not judging, which is key. Affirming life, affirming the community, affirming the message and what it is that we all hope to do in this world. In a way, the entire experience brought us all closer together -- it made us think and examine, and reinforced that which we believe.
Denying Discordia. That's what it's all about.
After service, I stayed with the rest at the last as I did at the first, until everyone was safely out. And then I went home, windows rolled down and music turned up, because it really was a beautiful day.
(Amen.)