Grace-Or Lack Thereof--in the Grocery Store

 Even before Covid world, I stopped going into the grocery store very often. It just was too darn easy to order my groceries, pull up, and have them loaded right into my trunk. I told myself this was saving money as I wasn't impulse buying, and perhaps that is true. It also, however, disconnected me from grocery store reality.

Several weeks ago I had to go into the store as both pick-up and delivery options weren't available until the next day, and I was in need of a few essentials. It was a cold rainy day late in the afternoon. I pulled up, put on my mask, and ran from the parking lot into the store. Immediately I was annoyed at the many people not wearing masks. Just being honest here...

There was a time several years ago when running into the store would take little time as I knew where everything was. But alas, over the years, things get moved around, and what I thought would be a quick trip in was already beginning to take more time. Music was playing overhead sometimes interrupted by "special announcements," and I could hear several children either whining, talking very loudly, or flat out having screaming tantrums. I huffed and puffed wishing I had my AirPods. I would like to claim I was in sensory overload, but really I was just being a selfish jerk.

I filled my cart with what I needed and headed to check out. There was only one cashier and four self-checkouts open. And there were long lines. I waited in the self-checkout line which really isn't a line but rather a gaggle of people all vying for the next open register. A young woman with three screaming children pulled her cart into the milieu. One child was sitting in the cart with snot running out of his nose and down his face. One child was swinging around the cart knocking into other customers, and the third was shrilling proclaiming every five seconds how hungry she was. The woman was on her cell phone it sounded like making some sort of appointment. Needless to say, she was getting nasty looks from other customers. Out of sheer desperation or complete resignation, she grabbed three bags of m&m's off the shelf and handed them out. The volume immediately lowered. (I was, I must admit, quite grossed out by the now snotty m&m snack.) With the lowered volume, I could hear several other customers whispering about "parenting" and "giving in." I'm sure the young woman heard it as well.

Over the next several days, I couldn't stop thinking about that woman. I had been that woman, sort of. At first, I thought these things

• What was she doing taking her children to the grocery store at the arsenic hour? (That's what I call the hours betweeen 4:30pm and bedtime--you either want to take it or give it.)
• Why was she trying to make an appointment while shopping and juggling three kids?
• Why didn't she just leave the cart and try again another day? (I distinctly remember walking out of the grocery store in Athens with four screaming children as I apologized to the clerk who would have to reshelve the entire cartful of groceries.)

I kept thinking and realized how incredibly judgemental and self-righteous, not to mention privileged my thoughts were. I didn't have to take my children to the grocery store during those hours because I didn't work outside of the home. I could go during their "best behaved" hours or while they were in pre-school/school. Maybe this woman goes to work early and rushes to pick up kids before the dreaded late-fee pick-up every day. I had all day to make phone calls and appointments--but let's be honest, I have also been on the phone while shopping...  Maybe she was trying to make a doctor's appointment to get that runny nose treated. I think the thought that gets to me the most is, I could leave that grocery cart full of groceries and just go home because I had food already there. Maybe she didn't.

I don't know this woman's story because I didn't bother to stop and help. I didn't let her move in front of me. I didn't help unload her cart. And I didn't wipe the little boy's nose. Maybe she is just a give-in to every whim parent who doesn't manage her time well, or maybe she's just trying to do the best she can and could have used a smile, a helping hand, and a little compassion.

My Ego, My Faith, and My Blog

I had a conversation with another female priest yesterday.  (I'm adding the "female" part in because there will be a blog about that some day soon...)  Anyway, we were talking about how we live and believe so many of the same things,  but there are also differences in how we live our ministries.  So I started thinking about mine....

Part of my ministry I firmly believe is writing, but it goes back even further than this blog; it's more than just about writing.  The call I heard back in August 1997 was "I want you to be an ordinary priest living an ordinary life and telling people about it.  I want you to share how to find the Holy in the ordinary."  I wrote about it a bit in a sermon given the day following my Ordination: Answering God's Call; It's Not a Choice.  I still believe that is my call, and I firmly believe that a part of that call is admitting where I struggle, exposing myself--my vulnerabilities, my doubts and my fears.  I also unequivocally know God is in my writing--directing my writing even--that's why when I  have something to write I get tunnel vision until it's done.  But....

God is in my writing, directing my writing, and yet I'm not a puppet on a string.  I have choices about how I write, how much I say, how much I share, and sometimes, perhaps more than sometimes I allow my own ego, my own need to be recognized, to be affirmed, to be "popular" to cloud the voice and direction of God.

Part of my writing is about my struggle with faith and life; part of that struggle is, I think, a struggle we all have which is, "Are the lives we're living and the faiths we profess congruent?"  The other day I was slapped in the face like a red headed step child (thank you Thomas Tomlinson that I've never been able to forget that phrase even though it is completely and totally politically incorrect--yet, I'm still saying it--high school days invade my ministry, now there's a blog waiting to happen...), with a situation where I sincerely doubted mine was, and I wrote about it. (Homosexuality: Haunted and Hopeful)

That blog had lots of response, lots of reaction both for me and others.  Last night my very bright, compassionate, faith filled daughter and I had a conversation not just about that blog but about faith and life.  We talked about how sometimes living our faith, professing our faith makes other people uncomfortable.  I know the way I live mine so out there and unedited can definitely make people uncomfortable.  And I recognize that my living that way impacts my family--sometimes not in a positive way.  She shared with me that someone told her that because of how active she is in standing up and declaring that racism in the world is wrong, she may be labeled and criticized.  She told me, "it scares the hell out of me how strongly I believe in some things and how important I’ve come to realize some things are to me, especially this year."  (Moving into oversharing proud Mama mode--can I tell you how proud I am of her not just for what she's doing but for recognizing these things about herself at such a young age?  I can promise you--and my high school and college friends can attest to it, that I did not.  But SK and her friends do...I wrote about it twice-- I Go to UVA--So What? and Who Cares if You're in a Sorority?)  I didn't tell her this (because I didn't think about it until right now), but that someone who talked to her is so right.

We are white privileged women and the "causes" we choose to defend, to talk about, sometimes make other privileged people--our friends even--uncomfortable.  People, even really really good people, don't like to be uncomfortable--privileged people, myself included, even less so.  There is an internal battle to keep life stabilized--even keeled--to not rock the boat.  I do believe, however,  that sometimes we need to be uncomfortable because it is in our discomfort and in our struggle where we grow.  We need to challenge each other, to stir up the pools of questions and discomfort, and I think my writing sometimes does that. Yet there is a balance....

She said something else that I found powerful and profound, “I was very stuck between what I think is morally and theologically important and not wanting to make my friend uncomfortable.”  What I realized throughout my sleepless night as I turned the many conversations I've had these past few days over and over in my mind looking at the many different edges and angles, is one does not ALWAYS trump the other.

If it were just easier to get unstuck...

*Two disclaimers:  First, I have permission from said amazing daughter to use her quote. And second, as I read my writing, it is very clear to me why I have a son with ADD.  Thank you for jumping with my mind... And third (so I lied about two) I am so grateful I have life long friends who still influence me and remind me of who I was and who I am--for better or worse.

Who Cares if You're in a Sorority?

It sort of feels weird writing a second post in one day--kind of like breaking the rule of one instagram picture a day--or at least that's the rule my children tell me I should follow.  But like Glennon Melton of Momastery (Momastery) has said (and I paraphrase), when you are a writer (or in my case a wannabe writer) you have to write when the inspiration hits you--it's like having to pee and you dance and dance and can't get your mind of it until you just go.  And since my children think I am probably the world's worst dancer, I'm double posting.

Actually, this post rolled around in my head for days, but I put on depends and didn't write it because, well the truth is, because it happened right after SK had dropped out of sorority rush and I didn't want to be perceived as the bitter sorority mama (perhaps another topic for my therapist--my fear of being misunderstood...).  But after writing my post from this morning (I Go to UVA--So What?), there aren't enough depends in the world to keep me from writing.

I was in Texas for my favorite conference of the year (shout out to FORMA!!!) with some of my favorite people in the world.  I was having a great time until...the morning of January 29, I woke up and was on my 29th push up (I have this weird thing about remembering numbers) when I heard a report on the Today show.  Sorority women at the University of Virginia were being told not to attend fraternity bid day parties due to the recent allegations of widespread sexual misconduct which had been reported.  I began to shake and not because of the pushups.  "So," I thought to myself, "UVA only cares about keeping sorority women safe?  Are women who are not in sororities so hideous that certainly no fraternity boy would take an interest in them?"  I didn't say I was thinking rationally--my Mama Bear claws were out in force.  The truth is UVA was not the one who made this ban, a fact I learned later.  In fact, the sorority girls backed by the student council were fighting back against their nationals--it's an interesting argument and one worth reading about power dynamics (Sorority Women Speak Out).  I really hoped SK hadn't seen this report; who was I kidding?

Within an hour my phone was ringing.  "Mama, you are not going to believe what's going on."  I tentatively asked, "This weekends activities?"  "Yes," she replied clearly furious, "The sorority girls aren't allowed to go to the fraternity parties because they might get raped.  Guess no one cares if a non-sorority girl gets raped.  I mean seriously sorority girls have a ton of sisters to look out for them; who do I have to look out for me?"  (This was before she realized how true her friends are whether they are in a sorority or not--hat tip ladies, you know who you are.)  "I know," I responded trying to exhibit the sensitive, listening, mother with a good response instead of the shaking, furious, riled up head spinning baboon mother.  "It gets worse," she continued, "They've also had a safety training for all the sorority pledges but no one has thought about the other first year women, or any year for that matter, who aren't pledges.  Guess we don't have to be safe."  "That's awful" I thought I was sympathizing but really I think I shrieked it indicating the injustice and elitism that I perceived was going on.  I know I shrieked it because I heard an echo of outrage--of course I was in the stairwell walking down 15 flights of stairs which may account for the echo.  (I have to get my steps in, and I have a fear of being stuck in an elevator alone; I wouldn't mind being stuck with someone else, then it would be a party--therapist issue?)   I said, "I think I'm going to have to blog about this."  SK, "I'm sure you are--go for it."  (How did I rear a daughter that could careless what other people think and yet it sometimes paralyzes me?)

Later that afternoon SK called me again, "Amy (her roommate) is also furious about the fact sorority girls were given the training and others weren't.  She's going to address it."  GO AMY!!!!  "I am so glad," I said, "See this is not about all sorority girls or them thinking they are better than you.  Some sorority girls, probably a lot, also see the injustice and elitism in this."  Now I was just throwing it out there.  It did come across as elitist and exclusive, and I suspect SK was not the only woman at UVA who first heard the report and was either hurt or angry--perhaps both.  SK was probably not the only woman who thought people were not striving for the justice and peace among all people and respecting the dignity of all human beings.  (Well she may have been one of the few who thought about it in those Episcopal terms--BCP p. 304-305)  Whatever terms anyone thought about it, the pain of being considered less than cuts to the core.

Amy thought about it.  (She's Jewish--see this is about everyone not one particular faith.)  And Amy not only thought about it but recognized what so many people of privilege or perceived privilege don't, and that is people from the "inside" have to stand up for those on the "outside."  They have to speak out about the preferential treatment they receive and deem it wrong.  People on the "inside" have to recognize their privilege and knock down those walls of exclusion.  UVA students did that supporting Martese Johnson and Amy (and probably others) did it supporting the right to safety for all UVA women.  I am encouraged by so many in this next generation; they seem to get it.  I'm learning from them everyday; they are helping to lift the blinders I have--blinders I wish I hadn't learned to place on.

Both these posts today come from events I wish had never occurred.  But if we don't learn from the events in our world, if we don't recognize things for what they really are than transformation can never occur.  We have to recognize and name it, and then move forward.  We have to stop being afraid of being misunderstood and start being afraid of misunderstanding.  Thank you UVA; you offer many opportunities for alumni to continue lifelong learning; I'm continually learning from your students.