I've
recently made friends with a Rabbi. She is great and when we get
together the conversation easily flows and I feel completely
comfortable, but as I am talking I also am repeatedly aware of the
many errors in my word choices. I say “church” when I mean
“synagogue.” I say “pastor” when I mean to say “religious
leader.” I say “Old Testament” when I mean to say “Hebrew
Bible.” Sometimes I fumble a bit and make a face to say “oops”
to which she responds with complete grace and understanding, but I
still want to get it right. I want to create a space with my words
of equality and mutual respect rather than expecting the other person
to adjust and accommodate my assumptions and bias.
I
was thinking about this as I led women's book group this week. We
are talking about race. And slowly but surely we are all sharing our
hearts, confronting our biases and being challenged … but not
without fear of saying the wrong thing. We are reading the book I'm
Still Here by Austin Channing
Brown. In one of the chapters we read this week Brown says “sadly,
most white people are more worried about being called racist than
about whether or not their actions are in fact racist or harmful.”
I asked the group if they have found this to be true. One woman in
the group shared a time when she was called out for something she
said that offended someone and what that felt like. This woman is an
incredibly thoughtful, intelligent and kind person and while this
experience was difficult for her, she learned and grew from it.
I
hate that feeling … when you realize you said the wrong thing and
hurt, offended or pushed someone away. I replay those conversations
when my mind is trying to quiet down. It goes something like this:
turn off lamp, head hits the pillow, deep exhale, eyes close and then
a voice in my head says “remember that time seven years ago when
you asked that woman if she was her sister's mother and she looked
horrified and everyone around heard it?” cringe, toss and turn …
Of
course that isn't the only time I have said the wrong thing or pushed
too far with personal questions. I hope that I have learned and
grown from each experience. Part of me wants to retreat and lock my
lips for good after those experiences, but that isn't my personality
and it isn't a possibility in my line of work.
Clergy
have to use words. We have to put ourselves out there and get to
know new people all the time, try to remember names, write newsletter
articles, teach classes and of course preach sermons to a mostly
captive audience. All this at a time when people love calling out
others for saying the wrong thing. No one wants to be the next viral
video of a jerk saying something stupid for all the trolls to rip to
shreds. But we can't stop speaking. If we do, how do we learn and
grow? How do we honestly confront our biases and ignorances? How do
we make connections and work together to better one another?
This
morning I listened to The Moth
while I worked out and heard this great story by Pádraig
Ó'Tuama. He did this really brave thing and created a space where
he could have conversations with people who were different from him.
For two days he and other LGBTQ persons met with religious leaders
who believe homosexuality is wrong. As one might imagine it was
tense, tough and exhausting for all involved. Just before it ended a
man who was not of the same mind as Padraig asked a simple question
of the group, “How many times have I bruised you with my words?”
When one participant said “I lost count the first night.” The
man said “I have some work to do.” Padraig shared how hopeful
and loving that moment was.
We
have work to do. But still we use words. We use them to learn,
grow, connect and express ourselves. So on Tuesday mornings I get
together with ten other women of all different ages and we try our
best with our words to understand the words of another, to learn,
grow, challenge and turn bruises into openings for love.
