60th Anniversary UU Church of Lexington
View more presentations from Cynthia Cain.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
Life after "The Help"
My cousin Fern (second of 4 Marjories) and her family's maid, Mitty in 1983. I am guessing that Fern's relationship with Mitty was much like the children in The Help.
My (great) Aunt Madge (the first of 4 Marjories) for whom Mitty cared until Aunt Madge died around 1980.
HOMILY:
Last week, a member who could not be here approached me. “I was at the tail end of this… we had a Black housekeeper,” she acknowledged.
“So did I,” I told her.
That got me wondering: how many of us could identify directly with the stories told by Kathryn Stockett? I would assume that in Jackson, MS or the deeper South, the numbers would be legion. I know that for me, growing up in NJ but with a mother from the South with old-fashioned values. I was the only person I knew who had what we then called “colored” maid.
Emma Clayton was with us from birth but she became our full-time caregiver after my mother died. I have exactly one picture of her, standing alone by the kitchen sink, wearing her uniform of navy blue skirt and pressed white blouse, apron and sensible shoes. I also have one picture of George, the gardener who worked for us during those times.
As I did my final preparations for today’s homily, my daughter was out with her very best friends. Two of them, her intimates since first grade, are identical twins. They are African American. It’s less than no big deal. My first packet of fifty pages was returned by my mentor on Friday: detailed line edits of two short stories that I read with trepidation and awe at her incisive mind. She’s way younger than I, and she’s African American. Again, not a big deal. But it gives me pause as I contemplate the lessons of The Help.
At age 55, I span with my lifetime the changes that have occurred since people treated their Black employees with a paternalism and sense of propriety that can be called, must be called, demeaning, insulting, even evil. The layers of irony that are stripped away by this rather simple but engaging tale are many, but at their core lies a single startling truth. Women who were allowed into the most intimate places in the homes and lives of white families as their “help” were expected to prepare the food, raise the children, and nurse the sick and dying, but were not allowed to sit at the table, keep their brought-from-home lunches in the same refrigerator, or use the same toilets as the families they worked for. And the most enormous lie at the center of this complex yet common story consists of four words: part of our family.
What this novel reveals is that these women were in no way “part of” the family; nor, in many cases was the love that flowed freely from the children to the Black caregivers necessarily reciprocated. Kathryn Stockett reports that at one appearance in NC, she said that she knew that her own childhood maid loved her. A Black woman in the audience stood up and said, she didn’t love you. You just think she loved you. (Interview with Katie Couric)
In my case, I would never use the word “love” for my relationship with Emma. She was stern, authoritative and yet often warm and sometimes funny. She was trying to keep three very spirited young children whose mother had died suddenly and whose father was preoccupied by his grief and his executive position with the US government from becoming hellions. It’s clear to me now that she took this seriously.
(picture of Emma coming soon; it turned out to be a slide!)
When I think of Emma now, I can remember her far more clearly than I can my own mother, of whom I have dozens of photographs. My overwhelming feeling is shame. Shame that she was summarily let go when my father married my stepmother about three years after my Mother’s death. Shame that we never saw her again. Shame that even as an adult, I did not attempt to find and visit her. I was in my thirties when my Aunt Ruthie was confined to a nursing home and we discovered that Mary, Emma’s oldest daughter who had sometimes filled in for Emma, was a nurse there. She was delighted to see me and to meet my small boys... but she told us that she was so sad because her momma had died just that year. She was sad because she knew that Emma would have loved more than anything to see us. It is not so much, in my case, the way Emma was treated as an employee as the disregard we had for her as a human being and as a huge force in our lives that makes me feel ashamed. Because ashamed is the word Stockett uses when she discusses these things in print and in person, I believe that a healing is now at hand.
As we enter this new church year, we’ll be using literature, poetry, movement, visual arts, crafts, music, drama and film to examine and contemplate the intersection between the spirituality and what I am calling very inclusively “art.” By intersection, I don’t mean places where God is mentioned or where there are explicit references or depictions of churches or established religions. I hope to pull from the arts samples of works that make us more human, more humane, and that heal us, because for me that is spirituality.
There are a few scenes in The Help that take place in the Black church. I actually found those to be some of the most contrived and least effective sections of the novel. (But they will make great film scenes!)
Indeed “God” does not play a large role in The Help. Aibleen’s spiritual practice of writing out her prayers is almost like a Buddhist meditation or a new age journaling practice. What makes the book a fit topic for a discussion of spirituality are these things:
* It tells a truth that must be told. The author repeatedly stresses that while the book is fiction, it is "true." Even today, she has been met with criticism and rejection from her own white community, and some scorn from the Black readers. Nonetheless, the book reveals a truth that is new, in that it has not been made this clear in this engaging a way, by such memorable characters, before. Hard truth and facing truths along with the shame and doubt they engender, is the core of spiritual growth.
* The book is healing. Ultimately, we will all face and come to terms with the truths of our lives. Those which go unspoken cause illness, mental, physical, and societal. Just electing a Black President, UUA President, or having a child whose best friends are Black does not undo the painful and shameful truth that I was born a white female, born with certain privileges, and that I benefitted from a racist system. One of the biggest problems we liberals have is that we don’t want to face our own collusion in systems of injustice and inequality, so we never completely heal.
* And while there is much healing to be done on race, we face a new and massive divide that worsens daily: the immigration issue. Interestingly, Hispanics, who comprise the bulk of undocumented immigrants, are today’s “help.” Working as housekeepers, gardeners and day laborers, they fill many of the roles and are treated with much of the same dehumanizing and demeaning racism that Blacks were (and in some places, still are). What is called “illegal” immigration gives the white majority a basis for blatant and overt racism. I am delighted and humbled to report that UUs have taken a strong lead in protests in AZ, making up the majority of those arrested and traveling long distances to do so, in a gesture that is reminiscent of our response to the Civil Rights marches of the 1960s. Even now, there is debate about whether or not this is right for us. But this is a strength of our people: we have the courage of our convictions. We are people who will stand in solidarity with the marginalized, the victims of injustice, and the downtrodden, no questions asked. There is something very Jesus-like in our witness, and I think Standing on the Side of Love is a perfect place for us.
Noam Chomsky wrote:
There are two sets of principles. They are the principles of power and privilege and the principles of truth and justice. ..the credo of any true intellectual has to be, as Christ said, “my kingdom is not of this world.”
I try to encourage people to think for themselves, to question standard assumptions… Begin by taking a skeptical attitude toward anything that is conventional wisdom… Be willing to ask questions about what is taken for granted.
Genuine intellectual inquiry is always subversive.It challenges cultural and political assumptions. It critiques structures. It is relentlessly self-critical. It implodes the self-indulgent myths and stereotypes we use to elevate ourselves and ignore our complicity in acts of violence and oppression. And it makes the powerful, as well as their liberal apologists, deeply uncomfortable.
Deep discomfort can be the beginning of a new life of the spirit. Indeed, almost nothing else ever has been. To the extent that The Help makes us uncomfortable, it will contribute to our wholeness and humanity. And, since people are far more likely to read and talk about The Help than about Noam Chomsky, that’s a good thing.
Friday, July 23, 2010
BEYOND 28 FLAVORS: Ice Cream Theology
Part of the joy—and perhaps the lure—of simple living is that you choose to manage only what lies within the scope of your actual capabilities and not to live under the pretext of unlimited assets or "purpose-greed"….. The result of that choice: A life that's possible, and a life that lasts. (Alban Weekly)
There are so many ways go when considering ice cream and theology/philosophy: Diversity, celebration, even sustainability, health, desire, and last but not least, sin.
So, you may be surprised at the one I thought most provocative and UU-worthy: Howard Johnson’s. It’s true, there are those among us right now who have never wandered into an actual Howard Johnson’s restaurant, sat down at the spinning stool by the counter with its three protruding aprons, and gazed with anxious confusion at the ever-growing list of possibilities: the 28 flavors, etched into a mirror that was graced by the trademark logo of Simple Simon and the pie man, the possible combinations of toppings, nuts, and whipped cream for sundaes or banana splits, the anticipation of sweet ecstasy as the sticky communion is fed to you by a smiling counter-girl. If you are among those, you missed an icon.
The similarities between HoJos and churches are many: lots of us went there once a week. Some never went at all. We knew the places by their distinctive architecture, which could merit another homily. The bright orange roofs were ubiquituous, especially along highways, as the mission of the enterprise, "Feeding the public on wheels," became enshrined. Families came together, seeking, and left, satisfied and content. Atop the roofs a dome, and above that, where a cross might be, a weathervane with Simple Simon and his generous pie man. Not that stealthily employed, still most of us were blissfully ignorant to them, were signature subtle messages: the colors that were to evoke a tropical vacation; the original restaurants shaped like colonial style homes, with fake dormers and colonial windows. You were both at home and on vacation, and you could find reliability, predictably, uniformity of service and product: the fried clams and the frankfurters cooked in butter were the holy sepluchres of our youth.
Most of us went out to eat rarely, so HoJos capitalized upon the feeling people had of celebration and sort of sacred time when they did go out by placing its franchises right at freeway exits (Exit 5 in NJ was the one I worked at) yet in reasonable proximity to local communities so that residents could go eat there and “feel” like they were on vacation. It worked, for most of the 20th century. There were hundreds of HoJos, the brand expanded to include motels (motor inns, as they were called) and packaged food.
There was one period during which almost all of the restaurants closed, WWII, when rationing kept people from driving and rationing of food prevented the chain from getting the needed ingredients.
HoJo restaurants started to fold at about the same time that McDonald’s reached mass popularity. People opted for convenience and speed. Families stopped doing things together and very few families were traditional. By the end of the 20th c almost all women worked outside the home. Time became a precious commodity. Electronic pleasures expanded, and people began to worship at the altar of TV, then the Internet, now handheld gadgets, little “churches” they can carry with them.
Those of us who spend our time thinking about these things are concerned.
HoJo’s died for many reasons, and the same will be the fate of the church in the United States unless we learn the lessons of history. We, the church (including all places of worship) are going to have to change as the world around us changes. This is anathema to some… I know. But it is true.
First, how is organized religion different than a Howard Johnsons, and specifically how are we, the UU faith, distinguished?
• Religion ought to have a core that is deeper and more lasting than serving people’s needs.
• Religion must challenge and not merely feed or soothe people.
• Religion asks of us to become co-creators: the core of this faith is found not in the worship experience (what is it today? Fish fry, oh, I don’t like that. Let’s get a new chef!) but in the mystical and somewhat indefinable process by which something happens when folks are thrown into a community and made to get along with others they would normally avoid; challenged to look at themselves and the meanings in their lives, asked to serve the wider community, given the daunting task of maintaining a physical plant that is the meeting ground of the faith. We are co-owners of the enterprise. And while there may be some satisfaction in the weekly dishing out of words and music, the real transformation lies much deeper.
I think we are going to have to get this clear, and remind one another of it, starting today, if not sooner. The church is not a restaurant. The mission of the church must never be to serve the people’s needs (desires) but to reach far beyond them. My goal is to help you create structures that empower you to see, over long time, by faithful attendance and by thoughtful attention, how much more meaning and depth and clarity and yes.. JOY!.. your life has when you are a part of a community.
Now.. Ben & Jerry. I served ice cream with Ben Cohen when he came to one of the first events opposing the Iraq war, Cindy Sheehan’s debut at Riverside Church.… B&J’s is not a church either, although it would be a synagogue if it were. But it is a radically innovative idea about how to do business in the kind of economy we are in. Raising up sustainability, Environmental awareness, activism (Greenpeace!) and even Stephen Colbert has made B&J’s very unpopular with some. I am guessing Glenn Beck doesn’t eat it. But the church could learn from them as well. Focus, mission, clarity, boldness and risk-taking… all challenges to today’s religious institutions that made the huge and perhaps near-fatal mistake of getting into the business of self-preservation.
What I am talking about is the church/synagogue gurus label the difference between functional and visionary churches.
Functional is what we have been, what the nay-sayers, the well-poisoners and the voices of doom and gloom want us to believe we still are. Functional churches are characterized by
Consumerism
Segmentation
Passivity
Meaninglessness
Resistance to change
Nonreflective leadership.
Visionary Churches are characterized by:
Sacred purpose
Participatory culture
Meaningful engagement
Innovative disposition
Reflective leadership.
(above from Alban Weekly)
The core distinction of a visionary congregation is that it is always in pursuit of sacredness over consumerism, holism over segmentation, participation over passivity, innovation over routine, meaning over rote interactions, and reflection over inattention. (Alban)
That’s a lot to chew on, and it won’t go down smoothly. To be continued.
There are so many ways go when considering ice cream and theology/philosophy: Diversity, celebration, even sustainability, health, desire, and last but not least, sin.
So, you may be surprised at the one I thought most provocative and UU-worthy: Howard Johnson’s. It’s true, there are those among us right now who have never wandered into an actual Howard Johnson’s restaurant, sat down at the spinning stool by the counter with its three protruding aprons, and gazed with anxious confusion at the ever-growing list of possibilities: the 28 flavors, etched into a mirror that was graced by the trademark logo of Simple Simon and the pie man, the possible combinations of toppings, nuts, and whipped cream for sundaes or banana splits, the anticipation of sweet ecstasy as the sticky communion is fed to you by a smiling counter-girl. If you are among those, you missed an icon.
The similarities between HoJos and churches are many: lots of us went there once a week. Some never went at all. We knew the places by their distinctive architecture, which could merit another homily. The bright orange roofs were ubiquituous, especially along highways, as the mission of the enterprise, "Feeding the public on wheels," became enshrined. Families came together, seeking, and left, satisfied and content. Atop the roofs a dome, and above that, where a cross might be, a weathervane with Simple Simon and his generous pie man. Not that stealthily employed, still most of us were blissfully ignorant to them, were signature subtle messages: the colors that were to evoke a tropical vacation; the original restaurants shaped like colonial style homes, with fake dormers and colonial windows. You were both at home and on vacation, and you could find reliability, predictably, uniformity of service and product: the fried clams and the frankfurters cooked in butter were the holy sepluchres of our youth.
Most of us went out to eat rarely, so HoJos capitalized upon the feeling people had of celebration and sort of sacred time when they did go out by placing its franchises right at freeway exits (Exit 5 in NJ was the one I worked at) yet in reasonable proximity to local communities so that residents could go eat there and “feel” like they were on vacation. It worked, for most of the 20th century. There were hundreds of HoJos, the brand expanded to include motels (motor inns, as they were called) and packaged food.
There was one period during which almost all of the restaurants closed, WWII, when rationing kept people from driving and rationing of food prevented the chain from getting the needed ingredients.
HoJo restaurants started to fold at about the same time that McDonald’s reached mass popularity. People opted for convenience and speed. Families stopped doing things together and very few families were traditional. By the end of the 20th c almost all women worked outside the home. Time became a precious commodity. Electronic pleasures expanded, and people began to worship at the altar of TV, then the Internet, now handheld gadgets, little “churches” they can carry with them.
Those of us who spend our time thinking about these things are concerned.
HoJo’s died for many reasons, and the same will be the fate of the church in the United States unless we learn the lessons of history. We, the church (including all places of worship) are going to have to change as the world around us changes. This is anathema to some… I know. But it is true.
First, how is organized religion different than a Howard Johnsons, and specifically how are we, the UU faith, distinguished?
• Religion ought to have a core that is deeper and more lasting than serving people’s needs.
• Religion must challenge and not merely feed or soothe people.
• Religion asks of us to become co-creators: the core of this faith is found not in the worship experience (what is it today? Fish fry, oh, I don’t like that. Let’s get a new chef!) but in the mystical and somewhat indefinable process by which something happens when folks are thrown into a community and made to get along with others they would normally avoid; challenged to look at themselves and the meanings in their lives, asked to serve the wider community, given the daunting task of maintaining a physical plant that is the meeting ground of the faith. We are co-owners of the enterprise. And while there may be some satisfaction in the weekly dishing out of words and music, the real transformation lies much deeper.
I think we are going to have to get this clear, and remind one another of it, starting today, if not sooner. The church is not a restaurant. The mission of the church must never be to serve the people’s needs (desires) but to reach far beyond them. My goal is to help you create structures that empower you to see, over long time, by faithful attendance and by thoughtful attention, how much more meaning and depth and clarity and yes.. JOY!.. your life has when you are a part of a community.
Now.. Ben & Jerry. I served ice cream with Ben Cohen when he came to one of the first events opposing the Iraq war, Cindy Sheehan’s debut at Riverside Church.… B&J’s is not a church either, although it would be a synagogue if it were. But it is a radically innovative idea about how to do business in the kind of economy we are in. Raising up sustainability, Environmental awareness, activism (Greenpeace!) and even Stephen Colbert has made B&J’s very unpopular with some. I am guessing Glenn Beck doesn’t eat it. But the church could learn from them as well. Focus, mission, clarity, boldness and risk-taking… all challenges to today’s religious institutions that made the huge and perhaps near-fatal mistake of getting into the business of self-preservation.
What I am talking about is the church/synagogue gurus label the difference between functional and visionary churches.
Functional is what we have been, what the nay-sayers, the well-poisoners and the voices of doom and gloom want us to believe we still are. Functional churches are characterized by
Consumerism
Segmentation
Passivity
Meaninglessness
Resistance to change
Nonreflective leadership.
Visionary Churches are characterized by:
Sacred purpose
Participatory culture
Meaningful engagement
Innovative disposition
Reflective leadership.
The core distinction of a visionary congregation is that it is always in pursuit of sacredness over consumerism, holism over segmentation, participation over passivity, innovation over routine, meaning over rote interactions, and reflection over inattention. (Alban)
That’s a lot to chew on, and it won’t go down smoothly. To be continued.
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