We Are Not Afraid

Below are the closing words given by Darcy Baxter at a gathering of abortion providers, activists, and supporters in Washington DC in the weeks following Dr. Tiller's murder. The event was put on by the DC Abortion Fund (DCAF). Please feel free to share. Please feel free to donate to your local abortion fund: http://www.nnaf.org/getinvolved.html

I’d like to start with a poem that many of you may be familiar with—‘Fully Alive’ by Dawna Markova. I know of this poem through Robin Fletcher,* a woman who lived 20 years after being given only a few months to live, who, like Dr. Tiller, dedicated her life to saving women’s lives.

"I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days,to allow my living to open me,to make me less afraid,more accessible,to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. I choose to risk my significance; to live so that which came to me as seed goes to the next as blossom,and that which came to me as blossom goes on as fruit."

Robin, like Dr. Tiller, refused to live in fear, refused to risk dying an unlived life. Right now, slumbering giants of injustice are once again emerging, if ever they slept—on Sunday May 31st, they pushed opened the doors of Reformation Lutheran Church in Wichita Kansas and visciously slayed one who did not cower in their presence. And now those of us who dedicate our lives to the same path of love and liberation that Tiller did are left wondering what doors they will push through next.

And this what the terrorists want—they want us to wonder and be fearful. They want to rob us, people of profound compassion and love, people dedicated to creating a just and beautiful world. They want to rob us of our hope, courage, and joy.

So, we are not going to let them.

I remember talking with Robin about her work, why she did what she did, why she worked to tirelessly to help women get abortions at all stages of pregnancy. And as I recollect, she basically said that given her shortened life-span, she needed to pack in as much living and loving as she could. Getting women abortions was the work that allowed her to cram in a whole lot of life into too few years. She gained life by saving the lives of others.

Robin saw working in abortion provision as the best way to risk significance, to live a full, meaningful, and joyful life. I think Dr. Tiller and his family and staff might agree.

I love abortion because my abortion work has made me risk significance in a way few things can, it compelled me to embrace the fullness and complexity of love and life. Abortion saves—that’s what all of Dr. Tiller’s patients are writing in their tributes. And for the abortion providing community in the room, that’s what our patients say about us too. The more we provide, the later we provide, the more life we are saving.

Life is not just a beating heart and some pumping lungs. Those working to restrict and eliminate abortion cannot bear to give witness to the suffering and evil that exists in this world. They cannot acknowledge that while humans are limited in our powers, we can choose profound acts of compassion that ease suffering, that create space for life full of spirit and love. Instead, they desecrate life by equating it with mere physiology. Life is far too sacred to demean it with vulgar oversimplifications. Abortion provision is far too sacred to demean it with vulgar oversimplifications.

Abortion provision is sacred because it requires us to perform that ancient duty of witnessing. It requires us to witness evil, the evil of violence, of rape, of incest, sexism, racism, ableism, of poverty and NOT TURN AWAY. It requires us to see all the ways we humans are both powerful and powerless, hurt and healing, despairing and daring. It requires us to overcome that urge to deny suffering and evil, to oversimplify, and to treats sacred texts like cheap books of aphorisms. When evil gets denied, when we refuse to acknowledge the suffering in this world and the powers we have to alleviate it, we rot our moral, spiritual, and communal foundations.

How does one prevent house rot? What does one gotta do so that a house’s timber foundation does not rot out?

You gotta air it out, you got to ventilate. That’s what witnessing does, that’s what abortion does. Abortion is that healing, curing air that prevents evil from rotting the foundation of our human household. Witnessing leads us to healing, it leads us to joy, love, and fulfillment. Abortion leads us to healing, leads us to joy, love, and fulfillment. That's why we do what we do. And this human household we llive in, this is one house that no anti-choice, anti-justice, anti-compassion terrorist is gonna burn down. Our hope, our joy, and our love will simply not let them.

It's okay to be scared, uncertain, sad and uneasy. That's why we come together. That's how all persecuted justice-seeking communities have gotten through. By relying on the power of community, relationships, and the bond of love developed among people doing the hard but right thing. We will prevail by coming together, by grieving together, and by celebrating together—because there is so much life and love to celebrate in this room and in our movement.

I invite us right now to speak out loud or to ourselves, the gifts we have received and the gifts we have given in doing this work. Speak aloud the foundations of our reproductive justice movement. What has Dr. Tiller, Robin Fletcher, given us? What has your work in abortion provision given you?

Let us take a moment in silence so that all has been said and unsaid may penetrate our hearts with love, courage, and compassion.

"I will not die an unlived life.I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire.I choose to inhabit my days,to allow my living to open me,to make me less afraid,more accessible,to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. I choose to risk my significance; to live so that which came to me as seed goes to the next as blossom,and that which came to me as blossom goes on as fruit"

May we leave this gathering with hearts our as wings, torches, and promises, heavy with grief and light with love. Go in peace.


*Robin Fletcher is a pseudonym, used to protect her family’s safety and privacy. Robin mentored a number of abortion counselors and activists (including myself) and was responsible for securing thousands and thousands of dollars of funding for women trying to access abortion services. She is one of the reasons I decided to pursue liberal religious leadership.

My Words in the Chapel on Reproductive Choice and Reproductive Loss

Welcome friends, new and old. Welcome family, known and soon to be known. Welcome to this chapel honoring reproductive choices and reproductive loss. Many of us celebrated mother’s day on Sunday. This chapel is very much about motherhood—after working on an abortion hotline and on a labor and delivery unit and neonatal intensive care unit, I have seen sides of motherhood for which Hallmark does not make cards—at least not yet. Yet, the strength, love, and courage I have witnessed in the hundreds of women I have worked with deserves a hallmark card and a whole lot more. So today, this chapel is about honoring the least talked about, least celebrated, most silenced parts of motherhood.

In Jewish communities, the days since Passover to Shavu’ot are being counted, a period known as The Counting of Omer and today is the 33rd day and the holiday Lag b’Omer. According to the Talmud, during the time of Rabbi Akiva, 24,000 of his students died from a divine-sent plague because the students were not showing proper respect to one another. This story is intended to emphasize the importance of right relationship and respect. Lag b’Omer is the day the plague ended. While this chapel was not planned with Lag b’Omer in my mind, I think it is fitting in a way: I hope today helps to end the plague of silence that exists around women’s experiences with reproductive choices and reproductive loss.

(Lighting of chalice, naming of holy days, celebrations, and members of our community to be supported)

In creating this chapel, a fellow Starr King student reflected to me this wisdom: “I've never really thought about the word "reproduction" but it is an unusual choice of words. We're not really reproducing anything or anyone. We are producing, creating, birthing someone or something entirely new and unique.”

Indeed, the words we use do not convey the depth of experience to which they refer. Reproduction, Procreation, “Pro-choice”, “reproductive rights.” These words have become hackneyed political jargon, mere placeholders for one of the most intimate and sacred parts of our lives. Because of the intensity of debate around abortion in the United States, women’s voices have been silenced when it comes to reproduction and procreation—or rather, a few voices have been blasted repeatedly while so many go unheard. Today, we are doing something that is too rarely done in religious or secular communities-- we will be honoring the sacredness of reproductive choice and the grief of reproductive loss. We will be honoring the many ways we make life-giving choices and the pain we can experience in making those life-giving decisions. And we will hold in our hearts the many choices that are not made—miscarriage, infertility, illness, poverty and injustice do not give us choices. In this chapel, we will be honoring how intertwined loss and creation are—that we often must birth through loss.

Now today is also Founder’s Day, a day celebrating those who founded Starr King School for the Ministry. I bet you are wondering how I am going to connected the founders of this school to reproductive choice and loss. Well, apparently I was not the only one who thought about founding a school as a type of birthing process. Reverend Samuel A. Eliot, President of the American Unitarian Association from 1900-1927 promoted and encourage the founding of a Unitarian Seminary in the West. UU Historian Conrad Wright referred to Eliot as the midwife in the birthing of the Pacific Unitarian School for the Ministry. I think the school has since gone through many birthing processes and some of them have definitely involved loss, the loss of faculty members and staff. When the Educating to Counter Oppressions and Build Just and Sustainble communities pedagogy was introduced, and new faculty members were hired, this school lost important supporters who did not agree with this new pedagogy. Even now, as we implement the new educational model, we are saying goodbye to old ways of doing education and experiencing the labor pains (and the joy) of birthing new educational life.

I am asking us to hold a lot today, a lot of complexity, a lot of feelings. Dr. Parker last week shared with the UU theologies class that dearly beloved Patti Lawrence, when the faculty or staff met to do some problem solving, Patti would ask the group “Ok, let’s start with what we know…” This is what I know—we are a special community here at Starr King. There are few places where I could even think about doing a chapel service like this. We are constantly encouraged to tackle discomfort and transform fear into love. Today, I am asking us to bear witness to the stories ________, _______, ________, ________, and _________. I am asking you to bear witness to the reality that these are very common stories, just untold. Untold by thousands and thousands of women. And each women feels differently. And no matter what a woman feels, it is right. Around 15% of women who know they are pregnant will have a miscarriage; between 15-20% of couple will experience inferility. Over 1 in 3 women will have at least one abortion in her lifetime. But today, we are going to help break the silence. We are going to listen and love. Please take care of yourself in whatever way you need. Peer chaplains will be present afterwards to offer pastoral support.


The opening passages of Genesis describe a watery chaos from which God creates the world: a wind from God* swept over the face of the waters… And God said, ‘Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.’ 7So God made the dome and separated the waters that were under the dome from the waters that were above the dome. And it was so. 8God called the dome Sky. And there was evening and there was morning, the second day.”

Surrounding you is some watery chaos, a river of life. In few moments, 5 brave women will give testimony to the ways they have birthed through loss. They will walk in the river and we will sing our blessings to them and all the women and families they represent. For their stories are like thousands and thousands of stories untold, unspoken.

Right now, ___________is going to teach us the song we will song. It is a verse from John Denver’s song All this Joy. The lyrics are printed in your order of service. After each of these woman testifies, we will sing it to them. Please look to me as I will indicate when to start and stop.

My Chapel Service Honoring Reproductive Choice and Reproductive Loss

Blue pieces of fabric used to create the river (bed sheets, sarongs, etc).

When the service began, the dark blue pieces in this diagram were already in place. On the chairs next to the podium, one piece of fabric was laid out on each chair.

We had five people telling their stories, not more than 5 minutes each (one was a poem). We called these the testimonies.

I offered opening words, framed and explained the ritual that was about to happen. After I was done, we taught the congregation a verse from the John Denver song All This Joy. We had a person playing a simple drum beat. We sang a song a number of times for the congregation to really pick it up. While they the congregation continued to sing I walked from the podium with a piece of fabric to the first testifier and we added that piece of fabric to the “river”and we walked up to the podium together. I sat down in the one of the chairs next to the podium. Then after that person told her story, the congregation sang while testifier 1 brought fabric to testifier 2 and they added that piece of fabric to the river and then walked together, hand in hand, to the podium and testifier 1 sat down in one of the chair next to the podium. And so on and so forth. So the light blue pieces were gradually added as each person spoke. After testimony #4, all the testifiers were sitting up front. I indicated for the congregation to keep on singing and I invited all those who would like to honor a reproductive decision or loss to enter into the river. As people from the congregation stood up, one of us sitting up front joined them and walked with them through the river (as the congregation continued to sing).

After this congregational participation part of the ritual, one last testimony was given—one that incorporated the theme of belly dancing, birth, and miscarriage. Belly dancing music played while she spoke and she also doing some belly-dancing moves while she spoke. Her piece ended celebrating that she still would shake her empty belly and emphasized how loss creates space for new life and joy. Then everyone in the congregation was invited into the river and to create a circle, and then we sang a song from the UU Hymnal, Let it Be a Dance. A brief benediction was given and that was that!

Gazing, Consumption, and Empresses

Istanbul, end of day 2.
(All my pictures are at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/darcyandkat/sets/72157611023589056/ )

"Travel is often purely visual consumption --visiting museums, historic sites, or natural areas. Photographing travel, aside from structuring the journey, helps travelers resolve dissatisyyfing aspects of any trip. It is difficult to guarantee positive holiday experiences...photographs offer evidence of a trip well spent. Photographs can help dispel cognitive dissonance--they can 'prove' that you had a good time... Travel can turn into 'the search for the photogenic,...a strategy for the accumulation of photographs.' Photography gives travelers something to do other than just look."
-From Visual Consumption by Jonathan E. Schroeder, with quotation from the Tourist Gaze by John Urry

I have such a conflicted relationship to my camera. I have such a conflicted relationship with traveling. So given that I am now traveling with a camera, guess how I feel? Conflicted!!!! Don't get me wrong--it is such a blessing to be part of this trip, such a blessing.

And I am trying to figure out how to engage and experience this traveling without consuming it. And man oh man, is it hard not to have a consumer mentality. I was walking around the Hagia Sophia today, this place with so much history, so many stories. People (most likely slaves?) built it, lugged stone and marble; church councils met there, emperors and then sultans worshipped there.... I was walking around, looking and trying to figure out how to experience the place without consuming it.

And what do I do with my camera? I can choose not to take pictures, to try to be present in the moment and then ask for others for copies of their pictures, but that seems like a cop-out. So I took some pictures today, mostly of the cats wondering around the Hagia Sophia because 1)i miss my pets and 2)there is something ironic/poetic about the stray cats roaming the hallways of this great church turned mosque.

Is there a way to use the camera without distancing myself from the present moment? Taking a picture seems like grasping, trying to hold on to something that cannot ever be held... But then, it is also about telling a story to others, about sharing my experiences in community.

Ironically, tourism seems to be inextricably connected to the development of widespread pilgrimage in the 13th and 14th centuries. "In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, pilgrims had become a widespread phenomenon 'practical and systematized, served by a growing industry of networks of charitable hospices and mass-produced indulgence handbooks.' Such pilgrimages often included a mixture of religious devotion and culture and pleasure. By the fifteenth century there were regular organised tours from Venice to the Holy Land" (Tourist Gaze, John Urry p. 4).

So I suppose on this trip organized for theological students, framed as a Pilgrimage to a place with a deep and rich religious history, it is completely fitting for me to be thinking about issue of the tourism and the tourist gaze.

And then, there are the joys and challenges of being in community. I am somebody who processes first through feelings. Which means I have a whole host of emotional experiences in new/stressful situations. What is difficult about this is that I am reluctant to show my feelings to people I don't know super well. As I write this, I can imagine my friends laughing...I am not one that hides feelings very well.....I have this fantasy about being tough, cool, and slick but really I am a sentimental and emotional mushball. In new groups however, I want to be cool, not complicated and emotional.

Gandhi said that God is Truth. So, can I do the work, can I take the risks to connect with God, to be truthful with myself and others?

Oh, and this is for my brothers, who have always known I was royalty: I also took pictures of me standing where empresses used to stand at the Hagia Sophia...finally, I take my proper place in this world...



Many thanks to Dr. Bridget Bordelon for introducing to me to the work around tourism and visual consumption, while I was a student on the Cities in the 21st Century International Honors Program in 2o02.

Some honest dialogue with a religious conservative on “President Obama, Difference, and Proposition 8″

Check out some interesting dialogue going on re: my piece “President Obama, Difference, and Proposition 8"

http://oxdown.firedoglake.com/diary/1526

http://live.orato.com/podium/2008/11/06/prop-8-passing-and-i-039-m-listening#comment-3884

Darcy, your article is the first one I have seen asking these questions. I see a lot of anger over this vote—and I acknowledge that this anger is understandable. I appreciate that you've taken this step back to consider the other side.

I'm a religious conservative and I voted yes on prop 8. I also volunteered dozens of hours calling people to get out the vote. What is going on in my life that guided me to do that?

We got a taste of what you and the gay rights movement have lived under for years—that our way of life was under attack. Just as it is natural for you to want to fight for your way of life, I was filled with the desire to fight for mine. I also felt I was on a divine mission.

You wrote, "conservatives believe that truth comes from their own interpretations." I wouldn't say that. I would say that religious conservatives believe that truth is absolute and comes from God. I acknowledge that not everyone agrees what that truth is, but that doesn't mean I'll throw my belief away.

In the weeks leading up to this campaign, I have been flipped off, cursed at, and called a bigot, an idiot, backward, closed-minded, and told to "g fck ff nd d" (vowels removed in the original for some reason). I've been told I'm filled with hate, which is confusing to me because "hate" is not an emotion I've been feeling at all. On the contrary, I've felt hate directed at me in the name of tolerance and acceptance.

I've read so many news stories of people getting successfully sued for exercising their first amendment rights to religious freedom that I don't know what this country is coming to. It seemed clear to me that anyone who wanted to raise their children believing that heterosexuality and homosexuality are not equivalent was under attack. It felt like a small but vocal minority was taking over the country and demanding that their worldview be impressed upon everyone at all levels of society, starting in kindergarten. I felt that a group with no distinguising characteristics other than self-identification as belonging to that group was exercising undue power over the rest of the country and especially the state. And I felt that the English language was being twisted to suit their needs; they were demanding equal rights when they already had the exact same right as everyone else: The right to marry someone of the opposite sex who agreed to marry you, was not too closely related to you, was not too young, and was not currently married to someone else. I felt that the Supreme Court reducing the definition of the word "marriage" to delete the most essential part of the word was unconstitutional, unjust, and in defiance of natural law and the intent of the framers of the constitution.

I would go into more detail, but my time is limited. I doubt what I've said will give you a high opinion of me, but you did ask. I know you just want to live your life and gain public acceptance of that life. I have no problem with you living your life. I have no problem with the rights granted under the domestic partnership laws. But while I can tolerate, I cannot in good conscience approve. You may say it's none of my business, but as a member of society it is my business to do what I can to keep society from going down the crapper. You don't think your desire for public approval will lead society down the crapper. I understand that, and I respect your wishes. But that respect cannot lead me to ignore a principle so core to my belief system that denying it would be to deny my existence as a human being and to deny my place in the universe.

-Peter

My response:

Peter,

Thank you so much for your thoughts. Respectful dialogue between folks who think and believe differently does not happen enough.

Fear often brings out the worst in humans and often can lead us to act violently and harmfully to other humans. I think a lot of fear is at the root of the Prop 8 debate, on both sides.

A lot of my thinking comes from my study of non-violent movements and as well as my study of Christianity, spirituality, and the Bible. My original words were really a type of prayer for peace, calling on progressives not to engage in the toxicity of hate. In fact, I am calling on them to follow the teachings of Jesus.

The framers of the constitution wanted to create a country where difference could coexist peacefully, where religious freedom and freedom of speech are central to how we govern our country. I don't want a country that will persecute you for your belief. I don't want a country that will persecute anybody, including me and my wife.

I do not feel written dialogue is or every will be enough. Peter, I want you to see me as a full human being, created in the image of God. I want you to see my partner (who was raised conservative Christian) crying, huddled under the covers. I want you to see the pain and hurt your vote has cause so many of my friends and family.

And after you spend some time among my sobbing and grieving family, I would like to sit down and talk about Matthew 7 "Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you...So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets."

or

Matthew 22:37-- Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.

or

Apostles 13:8 "Owe no one anything except to love one another, for he who loves another has fulfilled the law. For the commandments, "You shall not commit adultery," "You shall not murder," "You shall not steal," "You shall not bear false witness," "You shall not covet," and if there is any other commandment, are all summed up in this saying, namely, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself." Love does no harm to a neighbor; therefore love is the fulfillment of the law."

"Love does no harm to a neighbor." I am sorry that my fellow progressives caused you harm with their angry and bitter words. We are neighbors and we have both been hurting each other in different and similiar ways.

And, I am your neighbor Peter and right now, you are hurting me.

You said "I respect your wishes. But that respect cannot lead me to ignore a principle so core to my belief system that denying it would be to deny my existence as a human being and to deny my place in the universe." I hope you are never coerced to violate your principles, I hope your inherent worth and dignity as a child of God is never demeaned. May compassion, love, and mercy fill your heart. May we both stay in that space of respect as we disagree. And May we both continue on our paths, pursuing love, justice, and truth.

Blessings on you and your loved ones.

-Darcy

President Obama(!), Difference, and Proposition 8

"I will listen to you, especially when we disagree."

This is the line that stuck out most to me last night, listening to Obama's victory speech. And I wonder what it means for us struggling with the implications that California Prop 8 won--for the first time in American history, a constitution will be amended to take rights away from a group of people. What does it mean that a (simple) majority of California voters voted for it? Why?

Right now, my "wife" (will she be my legal spouse now that Prop 8 has passed?) is huddled under the covers. "I need time to wallow" she told me. Yesterday, she stood for 8 hours in front of school serving as a polling place in Menlo Park, CA, a single volunteer holding a "vote no on Prop 8" sign. School security called the police and tried to get her to leave the premises, despite the fact she was maintaining the 100 feet distance required by law. She called No-On-Prop-8 lawyers, who had to negotiate with principals and the superintendent across the county to clarify that the volunteers indeed had the right to be there. She is tired and sad.

It has disturbed me to see my fellow liberals, progressives, and leftists engage in the same aggressive, rigid process, the same means as our opponents on Proposition 8. "Those people who voted for Prop 8 must be ignorant, intolerant, stupid, bigoted, conservative." Yes, we are an angry and hurt people right now. And when one is angry and hurt, it's hard to keep our hearts open. We all need to huddle under the covers for a little while and recover.

But by so simply discounting those who voted for Prop 8, are we not engaging in the type of rigid, close-minded thinking we so often criticize? Are we not doing what the Bush administration has done over the past 8 years, disregarding dissent and disagreement, failing to listen to opinion that may be so radically opposed to our own? Where is our curiosity about why people would vote for it, what is going on in their lives that would guide them to vote for it? By lacking curiosity and openness, by quickly disregarding the thousands of Californians who voted for Prop 8, are we liberals and progressives not just as fundamentalist as those to whom we usually apply that label?

As I engage in theological study, I have come to the conclusion that one of the main things that distinguishes liberal from conservative is the belief that difference needs to be engaged and listened to--that different people, different traditions should engage; that what comes out of these conversations is not only important, but also may indeed be sacred truth. Liberals believe difference is important, that truth emerges from engaging the many; conservatives believe that truth comes from their own interpretations, that truth emerges from their similarity.

So when I listen to those who disagreed with me on Prop 8, this is what I hear: I hear fear and anxiety about sex and sexuality. I hear parents struggling to make sense of a world where sex is used to sell almost everything. I hear people afraid of something they are not personally familiar with. And yes, I hear a lot of straight out bigotry too. But maybe if we, the liberals and progressives, take seriously and engage with this fear and anxiety, we could win the hearts of those 400,000 voters whose 'yes' votes on prop 8 are posed to take away the civil rights of us gays, lesbians, and queers.

"I will listen to you, especially when we disagree." Amen, President Obama. Amen.

Sermon: Reproductive Compassion

Written and delivered by Darcy Baxter at the UU Stockton Church on Mother's Day 2008

A group of people who are blind encounter an elephant one day. They each reach out to feel and understand what an elephant is. One touches the side of the elephant and says “An elephant is like a wall.” Another touches the leg of the elephant and says, “ An elephant is like a tree.” And another touches the tail and says, “An elephant is like a rope.” Finally one of them touches the trunk and says “An elephant is like a snake.”

Good Morning Friends. Good morning family. Good Morning all of us who have mothered. Thank you for having me here today.

I think motherhood is a lot like the story's elephant. We touch different parts of it and think, maybe hope, that one part tells us everything about its entirety. We hope that if we touch the trunk, then maybe we don't need to touch the tail. Today, I would like to honor motherhood by celebrating a neglected part of her elephant: these things we call reproductive rights.

There is a saying from the Talmud: "Your heart will give you greater counsel than all the world's scholars." It is from my heart that I speak today and about my heart that I must reveal something. About 8 months ago, I walked into the UC San Francisco Medical Center's neo-natal intensive care unit for the first time. I was to be their interfaith chaplain for the next year. I faced little clusters of isolette boxes housing premature and ill babies, glowing in the light of various monitors. I walked around looking into each of the isolette boxes, taking in these little bodies and the various tubes and devices attached to them. As I was approaching the last isolette box, I paused for quite a few moments. I starred through the plastic, focusing on the smallest premie in the unit---6 months old, as in her mother had given birth at 24 weeks of gestation. So I looked at this 24-week premie. And then I thought about the women I had counseled while working for two years on an abortion hotline. Some of these women considered terminating their pregnancies at this same gestational age or even later in their pregnancies. One might think I would feel some confusino or ethical distress. But I didn’t. In fact, I would say I felt a sense of grace. I felt a sense of grace and harmony because that 24 week premie embodied for me just how complex, heart-rending, and full life is; just how complex, heart-rending, and full motherhood is. Today, I would like honor the so many unrecognized ways we mother in our lives. I want to celebrate and honor that there is no life without loss, that loss itself is a form of birth.

Reproductive rights is a strange phrase, I think. Somehow, it doesn’t capture what we are really talking about. We are talking about how you, and you, and me; how we experience sexuality, creation, loss, birth, death, relationship, and family. Reproductive rights is the hackneyed political jargon that has become the placeholder for one of the most intimate and sacred parts of our lives.

And while it would be easy (and not wholly untrue) to say that it has just been the radical conservatives that have caused such sacrilege, it’s not just those of us who identify as pro-life. It’s many of us pro-choice folks, who have participated in this dehumanization of motherhood. Ever since Roe vs Wade, we progressives have acted out of fear. Fear of the zealotry of religious conservatives who have successfully not only limited access to abortion, but also to things like birth control and medically accurate sexuality education. We have also acted out of fear of that 24 weeker preemie, who embodies the complexity and ambiguity of life. We progressive have veered away from publicly embracing the true depth and humanity to which this term reproductive rights refers.

As pillars of the liberal religious community, I think we Unitarian Universalists are called to remind the pro-choice movement of the incredible depth of emotion and compassion that lies within us whenever we talk about reproductive rights. And we can do this by grounding ourselves first in awareness and compassion for our complicated and messy stories of motherhood and familyhood.

Sarah was a mother of two. She called a national abortion hotline, where I was a counselor. Sarah had recently discovered she was pregnant again and had not yet told her husband. 8 months prior, they had decided they were financially stable enough for him to leave his job and open his own business. The business was doing reasonably well but only because of the long hours he clocked in. While they had talked about one day having another child, Sarah knew this wasn't the ideal moment. But she didn't want to talk to anybody she knew about getting an abortion--she felt ashamed. "I"m not a teenager anymore, for God's sake. I shouldn't have made this kind of mistake." She said they could handle one more child, though it would difficult and she felt terrible for "putting" this kind of stress on her husband. My first response was to tell her that it takes two to tango and that her husband probably wasn't too stressed at the time. She laughed.

And then we talked about parenthood, her feelings about being a mother, and how being a loving parent meant making difficult decisions at times. We talked about how having another child now would mean sacrifice not only for herself and her husband, but also her two children. It became evident that Sarah wanted to have the abortion but just needed to talk it through with someone who wouldn't try to sway her in a particular direction . That's how a lot of women are who call the hotline--they know what they want to do but need to figure out how to make sense of their decision; how this decision with fit into their lives.

In the case of mothers like Sarah, we talked about what other things Sarah would "give birth to" by terminating this pregnancy, what opportunities for her existing children, for herself and her husband, as well as opportunities for the maybe third child she and her husband could have later on. We talked about how complicated things can be, how right and wrong, good and bad are not such clear categories.

This call wasn't so unusual--I was a compassionate, reflective counselor who helped a woman clarify some things. And them right before we hang up, Sarah says to me: "You know, it was a snow storm. There was a snow storm and my birth control was out in the truck. And I just didn’t feel like going out to get it. That’s how I got pregnant.”

Thud. Suddenly, I was no longer just a compassionate, reflective counselor, maintaining a professional distance. I knew what Sarah was talking about. I knew that feeling—like when I don't want to do the dishes again, or take the garbage out again…wanting to just NOT do that thing I do over and over and over again as I try to be responsible human being. And there are days when it doesn’t get done. "Sarah," I said "you are human. Show yourself some compassion--I think there is a bunch of us that wouldn't have made it out to the truck"

Sarah was not just another caller--I could feel my head banging on a wall, saying "I can't believe the one time I didn't....." That feeling of complete disbelief that life could not have just let this one slide? But actually, I could believe it. Because that's humanity--our ironic, joyful, and tragic existence. Because there are snow storms. After that call, I figured out the following numbers and would use them with other callers: If a woman is on a daily birth control pill from age 18 to 28, that is 3,600 times she must remember to take a pill. If she is on it from age 18 to 33, that’s 5,400 times. And just how perfect do we expect each other to be?

So how do we honor all of motherhood? We acknowledge that in this interdependent web of life, in our limited physical world, creation does not occur without loss. Birth does not happen without death. I don’t think the question of “choice” comes down to whether or not we mother, but rather what we choose to mother; to what do we give birth. Looking away from For continuing to look away from all of motherhood leads us to an all too familiar place: alienation, from ourselves, from each other, and from the sacred.

I don't know how Sarah felt after the abortion.. I wonder if she was relieved and happy; or sad and depressed. I wonder if she will feel fine until years from now, when she gives birth again, she finds herself crying uncontrollably. Or maybe not. Maybe she will feel empowered. Maybe she can take pride in her choices of motherhood or maybe not. You just don't know. What makes me sad is that Sarah probably won't have very many opportunities to talk about what feelings come up for her.

There are some hotlines she could call; most of which are run by religious conservatives. Whatever her experience, whatever her feels, she will most likely cope with them alone, I'm sorry to say. It's true for Sarah, and it's true for countless other women who experience forms of motherhood and birth that which goes by many different names: abortion, termination, selective reduction, miscarriage, infertility, fetal loss. Alienation: that's how a lot of us deal all with loss in a culture that refuses to acknowledge and celebrate how intertwined creation and loss really are.

So many of us feel alienated. You can only imagine, or perhaps you know from personal experience, how alienated we feel in our reproductive choices. Over 1 in 3 women will have an abortion during the course of her life. Somewhere 15-20% of couples will struggle with infertility. Around 15% of women who know they are pregnant will experience a miscarriage. Please, take a moment to look around you. We are the people making up these statistics. We are the people loving, losing, creating, dying. Think about the decisions you have made, the decision you may or may not have struggled with. Think about the relief and or sadness. Think about the freedom and/or grief. Think about joy and possibility. What have you birthed through loss? What have you mothered?

Right now, I can only imagine the feelings in this sanctuary. Some of you may be feeling sadness, grief; others a sense of empowerment, joy. Others maybe nothing in particular. Others annoyance because you feel I am suggesting there is A way to feel. Others of you may be upset that I would group together those who terminated a pregnancy, those who miscarried a wanted pregnancy, and those who are infertile. Others may be feeling gratitude. Others may be upset that I would use death and life in reference to a fetus. Others may be relieved that finally someone has. What is the religious view on reproductive rights? To name and embrace all that is being thought and felt in this sanctuary right now. To acknowledge that THIS is reproductive rights, that tightness in your chest, the sense of lightness in your neighbor's, the tears in his eyes, and the sense of relief in hers.

Feminist psychotherapist and author Miriam Greenspan says the predominate US culture suffers from emotion-phobia, where on both an individual and communal level, we fear not only complexity and ambiguity, but also grief, despair, and fear itself. She writes that grief, despair, and fear our a human birthright just as much as joy, wonder, and love. There is no life without loss. But the emotions and experiences we reject, the complexity and confusion we try to avoid can be like a dark rich soil from which unexpected flowers can bloom if we only have the courage to dig, to get our hands dirty. Digging in means embracing, truly embracing, all we feel in this sanctuary this morning.

Digging into the soil means not turning away from mother of 24-weeker preemie or the woman who at 24 weeks is walking into an abortion clinic. It's welcoming and loving them both because without them we will continue to understand motherood as only a rope, a snake, a spear, or a tree. For me, I ground myself in those thuds in my chest, in Sarah's snowstorm and the incredible humanity nested inside. The religious perspective on reproductive rights means grounding ourselves not in a noble compassion for abstract women, but in our own experiences of birthing through loss. "The choice" is not whether or not to mother, but rather what will we mother in our lives.

So why did I feel a sense of grace that first day in te UCSF neo-natal unit? Because that 24 week premie called me to exercise a compassion beyond boundaries of politics, ethics, and law. It called me into the deepest place of my heart, into the heart that gives us the wisest counsel.

So on this Mother’s day, I invite us into these deepest, most tender parts of our hearts. I invite us to celebrate all we have birthed: the possibilities, hopes, and dreams. I thank and honor all of us mothers for all the unknown and unseen ways we have mothered in our lives. There are so many ways to make a life-giving choice. May it be so. Blessed be.

My fingerless gloves make me feel so cool, like 1986 Madonna

This shouldn't be a surprise. I just had never truly appreciate how much power fingerless gloves had. I flirted with them at my bachelor party. But not until our temporarily heatless apartment spurred me to first cut off the tips of a pair of socks and wear them on my hands; then second, upgrade to a pair of army-navy surplus wool fingerless gloves, did I realize the true value of fingerless gloves. They are awesome because I not only feel like Madonna, but I feel like nine year old Darcy did when she wore something that made her feel like Madonna. I wear them 85 percent of the time right now and I still feel somehow tough and savvy because of them. Now I can say there are two things that truly exceeded all my expectations in life: hoop earrings and fingerless gloves.

Ironically, despite seminary's urgings for deep self-reflection, I have been doing very little personal writing these months since I moved to San Francisco. I always have tons of ideas, little anecdotes and essays that pop into my head. And I tell myself that I really need to start routine writing sessions, particularly if I am going to be writing sermons regularly. But, truth be told, most of my energy has been going into being new. New at school, new in this city, new, new, new. And truth continued to be told, I don't like I like being new very much. Some people see a move as an exciting adventure. And I suppose it is that. But I like place, people, and relationships where we can start digging into the real and the juicy. I like roots with places and people.

And you know what else makes the world feel full and textured? My fingerless gloves.

A dose of Hip Hop critique

What the Hip Hop Media Thinks of You in the Oh Word blog via Mixed Media Watch

"Black Style" Article in NY Times

Article in NY Times regarding "Black Style" and a new museum exhibition at the Museum of the City of New York. Link