How to Make Chocolate Stains Disappear

As promised early last week, here is this week's installment of the all-amazing Chocolate: The Consuming Passion, my new favorite book.

Our excerpt this week shows us how to remove chocolate stains -- that is, IF you actually have any chocolate left over to stain your clothes after you scarf it down in the midst of polite society...

Now folks, please remember that this book is not for everyone. Like Boynton said, this book is not "for those who cannot remember the last time they had chocolate, or who cannot anticipate within a reasonable time (three seconds) when the next occasion will be" (11). It is for the "chocolate elite", for those of us to live and breathe chocolate, for those of us who just might dream of chocolate and who dream not in color or b&w but in chocolate.

Removal of Chocolate from Porous Materials:

1. Scrape off excess chocolate with your fingernail (in polite society, use a demitasse spoon)
2. Apply cornstarch -- to absorb oils
3. Apply cleaning fluid; let dry
4. Wet fabric again and apply enzyme paste. Let stand 2 hours
5. Remove paste using spatula or gloves.
6. Wash fabric with water and detergent.

If Stain Persists

1. Apply few drops ammonia
2. Neutralize with few drops vinegar
3. Wash fabric again. The stain -- and perhaps the place where it was -- will be gone.

Alternate Method of Stain Obliteration

1. Melt 1/4 pound chocolate for each pound of fabric
2. Immerse fabric in chocolate and let stand
3. Rinse well

Removal of Chocolate from Non-porous Material
These spots are easily licked


- Taken from Chocolate: The Consuming Passion, written, illustrated, and over-researched by Sandra Boynton

Draft-Dodging in the Culture War?

The following is an article that I read in the newsletter of CLGS at the Graduate Theological Union. When I think about what it means for me to be an Ally for my LGBT friends, I realize that it is my responsibility as a Christian and an ally to speak up against the perpetuation of language usage that attacks human beings who are created in the image of God. As Jay says here:

"I cannot sit idly by while the Gospel is once again used as an excuse for unfairness and bigotry. I cannot remain silent while so many believe that Donald Wildmon and Chuck Colson speak for Christians everywhere. I can't just hope for the best; I have to do something before religion as a whole and not just Christianity is painted with those same distorted, violent messages."

Yet, it is not easy, because often times, while I feel strongly about supporting my friends, I don't know how -- I am lost in the midst of a culture war. Language loss. And it is partly because I've grown accustomed to hearing harsh words. And it is partly because I dont' want to merely re-iterate the antonyms and oppositional words without really understanding what I stand for. I hope that over time I will learn how to wield words that build up and construct, words that empower and celebrate, instead of words that attack and tear down.

Copied here for your perusal are the words of Jay Johnson:

I've grown accustomed to words like "effort," "struggle," and "contest," which seem part of my daily routine. But the rhetoric keeps escalating and the words have shifted - "fight," "battle," "war," and even "Armageddon" now fill the landscape. If it weren't so dangerous, it might be funny. I'm not referring here to the Middle East or the geo-politics of the former Soviet Union; I'm talking about marriage, which is no longer apparently about love but armed conflict.

How odd to feel the need to be explicit about this, but apparently more of us need to: The loving and committed lesbian and gay couples I know aren't planning to overthrow the government and they're not stock-piling weapons of mass destruction. They just want to get married. Some of them just want to live out their God-given vocation to ordained ministry. All of us want religious hate-speech to stop before another life is lost to religious hate-crimes (the July 27 shooting at a Tennessee Unitarian Universalist Church is just the latest example: http://www.uua.org/news/knoxville/index.shtml

Meanwhile, here in California money is pouring in from around the country to support the anti-marriage constitutional amendment on the November ballot. Donald Wildmon, founder of the American Family Association, recently made this dire prediction: "If we lose California, if they defeat the marriage amendment, I'm afraid that the culture war is over and Christians have lost." More severely, Chuck Colson described the November ballot initiative as "the Armageddon in the culture war." During a July 30 strategy session, other religious leaders in favor of the amendment spoke of raising up an "army" of believers, putting "soldiers on the street," and being on the "front lines of a battle." One went so far as to call a planned rally right before the election a "blitzkrieg moment."

Do they realize the historical horrors they are evoking with those images? Frankly, that kind of rhetoric takes my breath away. Of course, there's nothing new about mingling religious and militaristic language, but it's no less dangerous for being traditional. I can't help but feel like I'm walking around with a bull's eye painted on my chest, or like fodder for religious target practice. At the very least, something has gone terribly wrong when declarations of love become the occasion for a declaration of war.

As a Christian, I am quite simply embarrassed by all this and deeply troubled. In the service I try to offer as an ordained minister, I seek to follow the Jesus I read about in the Gospels, who urges only the love of God and the love of neighbor as one's self as the essence of faith. That's the same Jesus who announces the coming realm of God with images of partying with feasts and celebrating at banquets (presumably with one's guns and ammunition checked at the door). By pursuing ordination in the Episcopal Church, I didn't sign up to be a religious "soldier" and I refuse to be drafted in a culture war that turns churches into battlefields and talks about prayer like an armed skirmish.

I didn't then and I won't sign up now for violence, not even of "just" the rhetorical variety. But I won't stay on the sidelines, either. There's far too much at stake here. A recent article in the Los Angeles Times (Aug. 24) quotes political analysts who believe that the inter-religious alliances currently forming against same-gender marriage could herald new ways of building political coalitions. At present, the strongest religious voices in that effort come from Mormons, Roman Catholics, and evangelical Christians. But they are also reaching out to Jews, Muslims, Sikhs, and Hindus.

I cannot sit idly by while the Gospel is once again used as an excuse for unfairness and bigotry. I cannot remain silent while so many believe that Donald Wildmon and Chuck Colson speak for Christians everywhere. I can't just hope for the best; I have to do something before religion as a whole and not just Christianity is painted with those same distorted, violent messages. That's why I work for CLGS.

All of us at CLGS work hard to provide the latest resources and the best education and training possible at the intersection of sexuality and religion. As you'll see in this issue of our e-newsletter, the 2008-09 programming year is overflowing with opportunities, both here on the PSR campus and around the country. Among them are not-to-be-missed marriage equality events.

But these many programs and projects are not "weapons" and we're not marshalling any armies. At CLGS we're committed to the justice-making, peace-loving prophetic witness our religious traditions call on us to make. Of course, we're not naïve about those who would oppose our work. We know first-hand and are reminded every day that we are indeed engaged in a struggle - for some, that struggle is quite literally a matter of life and death. We know that the change we seek to inspire and to live will not happen overnight and we know that we can't do this work alone; we need your help.

Simply put, both here in Berkeley and in our expanding work in locations around the country, we need your time and we need your generous donations of money. We won't be issuing handguns to our volunteers and we're not trying to endow a "war chest." We are instead committed to equipping scholars, faith communities, and activists with the tools they need to transform a society of injustice and violence into thriving communities of safety and equality for all God's children.

Perhaps, like me, you're wondering whether it's time to dust off that old mantra from the 1960s: "Make love, not war." Perhaps, like me, you're committed to the biblical vision found in the prophet Isaiah, a vision of God's own mountain where swords are beaten into ploughshares. If, like me, you believe this world has had far too much of war, whether economic, political, or cultural, then I hope you'll join me in supporting our work at CLGS. The time for warfare is over; the time has come for love, fairness, equality, and justice. With your help, we can make that vision a reality.

The Rev. Jay E. Johnson, PhD Senior Director, Academic Research & Resources

Painting shoes & loving it

We are two weeks from the opening of our poetry/visual art exhibit. Today, I'm priming & painting shoes. Tomorrow, I will dye fabric in the washer and will try not to destroy it in the process.

Update on the Millennium Development Goals

The following is the foreword written by Secretary General Kofi A. Annan in the 2005 Millennium Development Goals Report. I highlight them here even though this was written three years ago; I do so with the desire of reminding myself, and you, of the desperate need for all of us to think of whatever ways we can possibly help achieve these goals. We will not enjoy security in our American homes (whether in the midwest or on the West coast or in the humid regions of the south) if we do not have development, and we cannot achieve and sustain development if we do not respect human rights -- for everyone. What have you done to reach the development goals?

NOTE: The Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) are the world’s time-bound
and quantified targets for addressing extreme poverty in its many dimensions—
income poverty, hunger, disease, lack of adequate shelter, and exclusion—
while promoting gender equality, education, and environmental sustainability.
They are also basic human rights—the rights of each person on the
planet to health, education, shelter, and security as pledged in the Universal
Declaration of Human Rights and the UN Millennium Declaration.

How will the world look in 2015 if the Goals are achieved? More than
500 million people will be lifted out of extreme poverty. More than 300 million
will no longer suffer from hunger. There will also be dramatic progress in
child health. Rather than die before reaching their fifth birthdays, 30 million
children will be saved. So will the lives of more than 2 million mothers.

There’s more. Achieving the Goals will mean 350 million fewer people
are without safe drinking water and 650 million fewer people live without
the benefits of basic sanitation, allowing them to lead healthier and more
dignified lives. Hundreds of millions more women and girls will go to school,
access economic and political opportunity, and have greater security and
safety.

THE ADOPTION OF THE Millennium Development
Goals, drawn from the United Nations Millennium
Declaration, was a seminal event in the history of the
United Nations. It constituted an unprecedented
promise by world leaders to address, as a single package,
peace, security, development, human rights and
fundamental freedoms.

As I said in my March 2005 report entitled
“In larger freedom: towards development,
security and human rights for all”, to which
the present report is a complement:

“We will not enjoy development without security, we will not enjoy security without development, and we will not enjoy either without respect for human rights. Unless all these causes are advanced, none will succeed.”

The eight Millennium Development Goals range
from halving extreme poverty to halting the spread
of HIV/AIDS and providing universal primary education
— all by the target date of 2015. They form a
blueprint agreed by all the world’s countries and all the
world’s leading development institutions — a set of
simple but powerful objectives that every man and
woman in the street, from New York to Nairobi to New
Delhi, can easily support and understand. Since their
adoption, the Goals have galvanized unprecedented
efforts to meet the needs of the world’s poorest.

Why are the Millennium Development Goals so
different? There are four reasons.

First, the Millennium Development Goals are
people-centred, time-bound and measurable.
Second, they are based on a global partnership,
stressing the responsibilities of developing countries
for getting their own house in order, and of developed
countries for supporting those efforts.
Third, they have unprecedented political support,
embraced at the highest levels by developed and
developing countries, civil society and major development
institutions alike. Fourth, they are achievable.

The year 2005 is crucial in our work to achieve
the Goals. In September — 5 years after they adopted
the Millennium Declaration and 10 years before the
Goals fall due — world leaders will meet at the
United Nations in New York to assess how far their
pledges have been fulfilled, and to decide on what
further steps are needed. In many ways, the task this
year will be much tougher than it was in 2000.
Instead of setting targets, this time leaders must
decide how to achieve them.

THIS PROGRESS REPORT is the most comprehensive
accounting to date on how far we have come,
and how far we have to go, in each of the world’s
regions. It reflects a collaborative effort among a large
number of agencies and organizations within and
outside the United Nations system. All have provided
the most up-to-date data possible in their areas of
responsibility, helping thereby to achieve clarity and
consistency in the report.

Above all, the report shows us how much progress
has been made in some areas, and how large an effort
is needed to meet the Millennium Development Goals
in others. If current trends persist, there is a risk that
many of the poorest countries will not be able to
meet many of them. Considering how far we have
come, such a failure would mark a tragically missed
opportunity. This report shows that we have the
means at hand to ensure that nearly every country
can make good on the promises of the Goals. Our
challenge is to deploy those means.

As I said in my March report: “Let us be clear
about the costs of missing this opportunity: millions
of lives that could have been saved will be lost; many
freedoms that could have been secured will be
denied; and we shall inhabit a more dangerous
and unstable world.”

I commend this report as a key resource in preparing
for the September summit, which must be a time
of decision. The analysis and information contained
here can help citizens, civic organizations,
Governments, parliaments and international bodies
to play their respective roles in making the
Millennium Development Goals a reality.

Palpable and Mute

In 2004-2005, I journeyed back to Viet Nam for my first extended stay (10 months) in my birth country. One excitement of traveling abroad was the challenge of negotiating the differences of languages, cultures, and geographies. I read, speak, and write Vietnamese (though not as fluently as English), but while in-country, there were many encounters throughout those ten months in which I found myself at a loss for words, Vietnamese or English. One such encounter continues to replay in my head with vivid details, generating ever-expanding questions.

I can’t recall exactly when it happened, but it was around Vietnamese New Year, and it was a late night. A family friend had been driving me around Chinatown in Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) on a motorbike while I wielded my tourist video camera trying to capture the night life. We were looking for dragon heads – those colorful, intricately crafted dragon heads made of fabric and paint that were used in dances for the Tet festivals in the new year. We didn’t see any, but we did happen across a Buddhist temple in one of the older sectors of town.

I remember standing outside the temple’s wide double-doors and seeing round, red paper lanterns brightly lit and strung across the yard and temple posts. I smelled incense, the fragrance from unseen joss sticks stuck into pots in front of some statue of Buddha, or maybe of Quang Yin. Before I could step foot inside, my friend -- who was a good, kind man born and raised in a strictly conservative, highly evangelical church -- admonished me for wanting to go inside. “God does not reside there,” he said. He quoted several Bible verses and re-emphasized that I should not step into a place where God does not.

That night, I might have said anything in response. My understanding of religious pluralism, my theological background, and my own religious hybridity would have allowed me to say something even as basic as “Jesus is in my heart so I can go anywhere without fear of trespassing on unholy space”. But I didn’t. “How can we tell definitively that God is not there?” I asked my friend.

Peter Phan, the pre-eminent theologian and the only Vietnamese Catholic scholar currently under censorship by the Vatican, and currently the Ellacuria Chair of Catholic Social Thought at Georgetown University, once said while speaking at CDSP’s Epiphany West Conference that though we most surely cannot say where God is not, we can most likely say where God is.

Perhaps God is where two or more are gathered? Or perhaps “down to the mire” as in the Georgia Sea Island Shout Song (185)? Or perhaps where God is might be in that space in the summer mountains, where Yu Xuanji has gone to the “house of the Immortals” (56). For Gabriela Mistral, that space is in the valley “dancing / in a chorus under the sun” (214). For Sumangalamata, that space is “[no] more tied to the kitchen, / stained amid the stained pots” but it is found “in the shade of [her] own tree” (18). Perhaps God is not in a geographical location at all. There is no question of who or where Lord Shiva is. Mahadeviyakka says in one poem, “the White Jasmine Lord is myself” (84). It is also entirely possible, too, that we cannot say where God is. There is no need for words, or rather, no capability for words or mind or awareness. “I became You, Lord, and forgot You” (83), she confesses.

I have entered into many temples before, and since, that evening. But I have not thought about those temples as much as I have reflected on that one temple in that particular night in Viet Nam. I’ve thought about where we see God and where God resides. I’ve thought about the act of stepping into a sanctuary of a faith tradition different from my own. About our human need to draw boundaries defining what is and what is not holy. The need to name and rename as much as we can in order to lessen the mystery of what we do not know.

It wasn’t until a year ago that I could find the words to describe that incident. The poem emerged out of a complex web of words and memories, an attempt to articulate my sense of where God is, who God is, as well as an attempt to express what I did not, could not, say in that night. The poem currently in revision recalls the images surrounding that evening: the cool air, the bright red lanterns, the joss stick incense, and the wooden temple doors – open temple doors. For me, the poetic form gives me just enough empty space on the page to acknowledge the silence which accompanies that kind of deep grappling. The poem is a vehicle through which I express my lived theology, my lack, my yearning, my faith.

The poem continues to be revised not simply because of word-smithing, but because it touches upon negotiations much deeper, much more complicated than I am prepared to speak. That is my ars poetica – slightly frayed, failed, “palpable and mute”.


(Pages quoted from Women in Praise of the Sacred, ed. Jane Hirschfield)

* These segments were taken from some notes I had written in preparation for teaching my online poetry class for CALL, Holy/Wholly Poetry: Articulating the Sacred in Poetic Form.

Striking a Language Between Us

On Tuesday, my grandmother had a minor stroke. She is currently in ICU in a Denver hospital, and we hope she will get to come home soon. She can't walk, can't even hold a pen, and has lost her speech capability. Actually, she "talks" but because she lost swallowing reflexes, she can't make speech. I still don't know the medical explanation, but this past Tuesday night, I finally understood what they meant by losing speech capability. I called the hospital room, and my uncle put Grandma on the phone. She talked nonstop with great energy, but her tongue could form no words. All I heard were mutterings, high and low tones and sounds uttered without any coherence. She clearly knew what she wanted to say, but the words could not be transmitted through her physically.

I talked to her about all sorts of things, and hoped that she will not want to say anything requiring me to respond. Still, she tried and tried. I couldn't find anything -- not in the inflections, not in the intonations, not in the pauses -- nothing to help me understand what she was willing me to comprehend.

Our conversation was interrupted by the doctor who entered the room to give Grandma some tests. Thankfully, too. I'm not quite sure I could have found the right language, neither English, neither Vietnamese, to communicate with her.

Chocolate: The Consuming Passion

I have found a most fabulous book. I know not how I've managed to live almost 30 years without knowing that it exists. This book which according to the cover was written, illustrated, and over-researched by Sandra Boynton is indeed the most thorough guide that "answers every intelligent question about chocolate." The book is populated by cute hippos, rabbits, bunnies,piggies, and very helpful little charts, graphics, and myth-debunking data that are perfect for the Chocolate Elite -- "the select millions who like chocolate in all its infinite variety, using 'like' as in 'I like to breathe.'"

In the effort to share with you unfortunate souls who have not seen this book, I will try to post images and excerpts from this book. You will love this as much as I do.

The true connoisseur of chocolate shuns all chocolate novelty in favor of the uncompromised bittersweet experience. This is the gourmet.

At the other extreme is the individual who will embrace chocolate in any form: the gourmand.

And right in the middle of the field is she who is partial always to the gentleness and variety of milk chocolate: the gourmoo.

Some of the great research data presented in Chocolate: The Consuming Passion include the presentations and debunkings of a variety of myths about chocolate. I present to you, here, now, Myth No.2

Myth No. 2: "Chocolate is Fattening."

A crucial factor has been overlooked in this widespread condemnation of chocolate: Most chocolate eaters tend to supplement their chocolate intake with other foods. By what right, what logic can chocolate be singled out as the cause of plumpness? How can we be certain, say, carrots are not a catalyst to weight-gain when chocolate is present?

And there is empirical evidence that also raises serious doubts about chocolate's fatteningness: Few chocolate lovers can simply lie back and wait for chocolate to come to them. For most, getting and keeping chocolate often requires strenuous physical work.

Selected Average Caloric Expenditures Related to the Routine Pursuit and Maintenance of Personal Chocolate Resources

Activity: Carrying seven pounds of chocolate from store to residence
Caloric Expenditure: 359

Activity: Hiding all chocolate before answering door when company drops by unexpectedly
Caloric Expenditure: 744

Activity: Swimming to Switzerland
Caloric Expenditure: 497,562 (approx.)

More to come. Next week: How to Make Chocolate Stains Disappear

One Look Back

On the day of the finals for men's road cycling, the sky was a cloudy gray. The bystanders already lined the length of the concrete highway snaking it was way around the area of the Great Wall near Beijing. As the people were cheering on each bicyclist weaving their way toward the finish line, the competitors were heading into the last 200m of their arduous ride.

On the t.v., I could see the leader out front, a 22-year old racer from Luxembourg (I think) who was favored to win, and win by a large margin. The commentators on the t.v. remarked on his maturity, noting that even as a young twenty-something competiting for the first time in the Olympics, he had comported himself with great poise and demonstrated a lot of potential.

Yet, as I watched the t.v. screen, seeing those cyclists racing at lightning speed along the road, I witnessed this young athlete prove the commentators wrong. As he and his followers reached the 1.6meter mark, the racer favored to win began looking back. Perhaps he was seeing the shadowy figures inching forward on his left and his right. Perhaps he was sensing their raspy breaths on the back of his neck; perhaps he was feeling their sweat, smelling their frustration and hope and drive. Perhaps he was listening to their heartbeats reaching past him toward the finish line, toward the gold medal, toward that elusive podium where they might possibly stand listening to their national anthem blaring into the gray skies.

Regardless of what he was listening to, he was not concentrating on the finish line. Instead, he kept looking back at the other athletes approaching at his heels. For each glance backward, he lost what little edge and advantage that he had gained throughout the race. He lost the drive, and momentum when his concentration was distracted for one look back.

As the young athlete crossed the finish line, his clenched fist banged the handlebars of his bike in frustration and in acknowledgment of his loss. And it was not a loss of the gold, silver, or bronze medals, but of whatever confidence, faith, and hope that he had in himself.

What else has been lost for one look back, I wonder?

Nothing Twice by Wislawa Szymborska

Nothing can ever happen twice.
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice.

Even if there is no one dumber,
if you're the planet's biggest dunce,
you can't repeat the class in summer:
this course is only offered once.

No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with exactly the same kisses.

One day, perhaps, some idle tongue
mentions your name by accident:
I feel as if a rose were flung
into the room, all hue and scent.

The next day, though you're here with me,
I can't help looking at the clock:
A rose? A rose? What could that be?
Is it a flower or a rock?

Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It's in its nature not to stay:
Today is always gone tomorrow.

With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we're different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are.

- from Nothing Twice: Selected Poems, selected and translated by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh, Wydawnictwo Literackie (Cracow, Poland), 1997

I'd like an age, gender, race, ethnicity, and marital status neutral name please

The UMC has something called the Young Adult Fellowship, and at our church, over the years, we've gotten into the habit of using the acronyms YAF for short. At the time I joined this particular church, the name was pretty much written in stone, with very little hopes of changing into an alternative label. The unfortunate thing about YAF is that it is a label for a certain demographic, one that we no longer fit into. We are all career professionals who no longer use college or graduate school as a time marker for where we are in life. We don't identify with activities, ideologies, and structures that have been pre-shaped for the college-age. But because it is so much quicker to say the one-syllable "YAF", we've not bothered too much to find a name neutral in age, race, ethnicity, career/occupation, sexual orientation, political affiliation, and marital status. It's not that we wish to have a carte blanche; we simply want something large and general enough to encompass the diversity of who we are, and to label ourselves as YAF seems so restrictive and prescriptive.

I've been mulling over a few names, but none have seriously taken root. Will report later.

So, a handful of us have decided to meet every Friday night for small group discussion. It's not easy to gather a group of folks together on a Friday night, but we are committed. We dine, whine, and talk. Just Friday past, while still figuring out what we wanted to take up as a first topic, we launched int a conversation involving politics, faith, religion, Lot's wife, Hagar, prayer, spiritual gifts, talents, abusive relationships, upcoming elections, and a host of other topics. Just going by Friday night's discussion, I'm sure the small group will be interesting.

After much deliberation, we decided to take up the Effective Stewardship Curriculum recently produced by the Acton Institute. More on this later.

I'm hopeful that this will be a great experience -- challenging, fulfilling, etc, etc.

Nice to meet you Brad

My brother has decided (half seriously, half jokingly) that, at select times in his waking life (and perhaps in his dreams, too), he will take up an English name: Brad.

While I find this incredibly amusing and have dismissed this as pure talk on his part, I think he is motivated by a deep sense of frustration at people's inability to pronounce and spell his name. They just don't *get it*. The language barriers on their part are insurmountable, so he feels compelled to assist the world in acknowledging his name. If they can't do it, he will accommodate their deficiencies by changing his label. (I feel differently, but you've already heard about that before.)

We were at Rubio's one day, and he decided to test his new name... so Brad ordered a burrito and gave his name to the cashier, only to have the cashier throw it back in his face. "Bread? Huh? Can you spell that?"

Brad was not amused. TA was not amused. Granted, the cashier was hard of hearing. Nevertheless, it was irksome that his attempt of giving the Anglicized name didn't carry over too well and he was once again having to reiterate names to a stranger.

I was amused. Very much so. I've never truly believed, in jest or in seriousness, that changing my name would help people know me or understand my person better. In fact, when they are truly interested in getting to know me, they would inquire about my name and how to accurately pronounce or spell it. If they choose to dismiss me and not interact with me as a person, most of the time, they will be inclined to do so whether my name is Josephine or Mary or Fredrika or HAT.

When we were younger, my mom, sister and I used to joke that we might one day change our names to Rosemary. We'd all be Rosemary. Wherever we go, all three of us would use the name Rosemary, and people would have to figure out how else to differentiate us from one another.

If given the chance, would I change my name? What are the pros and cons of doing something like that? How could I imagine hearing myself called by any other name?

HAT's back on track

This has been a full summer. Still is a full summer. While I continue to sigh and complain to my friends and loved ones that I'm too busy doing one thing or another, I admit to feeling quite satisfied in being productive, in actually being proactive instead of just slowly moving through my days trying to fill up time with semi-meaningful tasks. Alongside the fun activities of fellowship that one gets to do in the summer, I've also managed to move out of the spacious apartment and moved into the slightly smaller apartment around the corner. In addition to having successfully stuffed myself into this new space, T4 and I will be hosting our very first open house BBQ this weekend with an expected 40 guests in attendance.

Some things that HAT has been working on:

1) Holy/Wholly Poetry: Articulating the Sacred in Poetic Form.
Thanks to CDSP's Center for Anglican Learning and Leadership, I am teaching an online class on poetry and spirituality. Since this is a summer course, is online, and includes creative writing, the Director of the center and I did not expect for the class to launch with more than 5 students. To our surprise, the class was filled with a rich, diverse group of students (I say students but they're all older continuing education folks who are taking the class for "fun" in addition to their full-time work). I have been blessed by their continued patience and enthusiasm, and I am excited to have this opportunity to challenge myself and to learn and grow alongside these incredibly talented individuals. We have finished five weeks and are headed into our sixth with great energy...

2) Small group discussions
For the past two months, our Chinatown-based multi-generational, multi-cultural congregation has been fortunate enough to welcome new, young, career professionals into our community. These folks are a part of my particular demographic, with similar interests and concerns about faith, religion, community, etc. We've decided to start a small group which meets every Friday night to discuss a variety of issues. I just happened to be the person designated to "call the meeting" but mostly it's because I'm lucky enough to have space to host the small group at our house. We have energy and we are excited about where we're heading.

3) unFound Exhibition 2008
Yes, yes, yes, we are actually doing it! The exhibition is on! We have finalized the writing materials that will be used for the visual arts portion, which is being constructed as we speak. The plans are in place and we launch on the weekend of September 6th in Stockton. The exhibition will also include an opening reception, with writing and arts workshops being offered on the weekend. After the Stockton show, we'll be exhibiting in Oakland at Interplayce. Afterwards, we'll be hanging the installation in the Bade Museum in Berkeley. Abby and I are absolutely thrilled (albeit still slightly shocked, in disbelief) that this is coming together so quickly and so well. Preparing for the exhibition has kept us tremendously busy, but we are pleased to have the opportunity to bring our creative arts together with our faith, culture, and theology.

4) Hospitality task force
While our church continues on our path of (re)(en)visioning, we seek to restructure our culture of hospitality by developing a brand new hospitality task force. Since I started working with the planning team, I find myself mired in notes-taking, phone conferencing, email exchanging, and after-worship discussing -- so similar to the office work, but only a bit more complicated and less structured. I'm encouraged by the dedication apparent in the other members of the team, and am inspired by them to continue working on these monumental tasks, even if at times it feels so overwhelming. Over the summer, we picked up momentum and are steadily gaining speed as we continue through Ordinary Time.

5) Fertile Grounds Writers Group
I call it a group, but it really only includes three. We meet every Monday at the designated time in our favorite cafe and talk about writing. We alternate turns submitting work for critique and we cycle through all the genres, depending on what we are working with currently. I appreciate this group b/c we are all writers of one kind or another, and we really get into the meat and potatoes. Last week, we talked about redemptive figures and hero myths in a children's story that one person is writing. This Monday, we talk about identity issues and naming. Next week, we'll probably have a piece dealing with theology and missiology. I'm practically drooling as I think about the tough work we have ahead. I'm so excited that we actually do this!!!

6) Renga Writing Group
As some of you know, I am a member of the renga writing group. We've been slowly but steadily compiling our rengas about a variety of topics. The seed for this group was sown years ago in a graduate writing workshop, and after months of collaborative writing, and through hundreds of books that we've read, we've now reached the penultimate verse of our most recent renga (more accurately called a kasen) about Idolatrous Art. Just last week, we've gained another member to the group, and we are busily thinking about possible topics for the new kasen. Stay posted and you'll soon see the new kasen unfold on our blog.

All these projects, in addition to work, have kept me busy, so even though I am complaining on the side, it's only by habit. I am grateful for the chance to do all these things. For the ability to bring together my writing, my faith, and my administrative skills in productive and meaningful ways, I give thanks to God, our Creator, Inspiration, and Teacher.

HAT's back on the rack

Hi there. HAT's been off the rack for a while, mostly just idling away, rotting a little bit, getting slightly moth-eaten, and definitely getting rusty in terms of blogging. But, we are back on track. As of midnight on Friday, I was able to log onto the world wide web w/o any complications. Am happy to report that I can access email, blogs, news, movies, what have you, at all hours of the day.

Let me tell you, this past month or more has taught me that I have been utterly spoiled with internet access. It was frustrating to not have personal internet. Yes, I was connected at work, but the office has been extremely busy, so there was a lot of guilt associated with the distinctions that need to be made between personal stuff and work stuff.

Now, now, though, I am free to do what I want, anytime I want. We are back online and we are happy.

10 to 1 this is not John L Smith

Yesterday, I stopped to get gas after taking "Brad" to the airport. I pulled into the station on MLK, Jr. and met a man who introduced himself as John L. Smith. Here was this black man dressed in crumpled clothes and a baseball cap. He had long gray hair and the most beautiful smile I had seen in a long time. It was unreserved and filled with joy. John asked if he could clean my windshield and pump my gas for a couple of dollars. I agreed, and we fell into an easy conversation, him wiping down the window windshields, me paying for gas, all the while suspecting that neither party was fully honest as we wish we could be in all our human interactions. Concentrating on the windows, his eyes averted, John casually told me his brother older brother died several months ago*, that his sister just retired as vice principal of Skyline High in Oakland, and that he used to grow up in the Baptist Church but has long since become disenchanted with the philandering Deacons who preached hypocritical sermons.

(* Strangely enough, I asked about their age difference instead of asking how his brother died. Perhaps it was because I didn't want him to present for me such an elaborate tragedy. It felt easier to ask about the relationship that was instead of one that could have been.)

Why, I asked myself, did I even bother pretending to believe in this story? Perhaps I hoped that it was real, that he was indeed wrought with pain and sadness at the death of his sibling, which plummeted to deep depression, causing him to lose his job and home and thus forcing him to live on the streets. Throughout our conversation, knowing that he was feeding me these stories just to get some money, I didn't feel threatened or nervous. In fact, I felt comfortable, at ease, and incredibly light. After it was done, we shook hands in a firm grip, making eye contact and nodding to the fact that we were in collusion together. This, we performed splendidly. Before leaving, I pulled out a few bills from my wallet and handed them to him, thinking it was a couple of dollars. As he took the money, I realized I was handing him a $10 bill and several ones.

Before I drove off, he asked me what church I go to, and I told him, giving him the address to Chinatown. I invited him to visit the church, and while some people might say that I was foolish to give him that information, I hope that somehow, one day, something or someone else will remind him that he met with someone from that kind of community. I'm not naive enough to think I've changed his life. He's $15 richer, and I'm left with two credit cards, $3 in cash, and a handful of receipts. But, I'm certain we left that parking lot feeling buoyed by a lot more than just the money changing hands.

Maybe he was craving some conversation. Maybe I needed a reminder to be kind. Maybe both he and I benefited from that slight human contact, from that little exchange between one closed spirit and another.