Atonement: Sometimes the Truth Hurts

28 September 2009

All across the world, even non-practicing Jews find their way to temple to participate in this,the holiest of the high holidays: Yom Kippur. As it continues today, I cannot help but reflect on a time when the lone Jewish teacher at my school had so much trouble taking the day off for worship. I also remember picking her up after sundown and going to the New Yorker Deli to break the fast. She hated it when I ordered an onion wheel because then the car smelled like onions! [Onion wheel is pastrami on a kaiser bun, with melted switzer cheese, paper thin slices of onion and shredded lettuce.]

My niece lives in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood where families can be seen walking together to temple. We’re talking the big hatted, bewigged, covered up varieties here. In fact, when he bought the bungalow in West Rogers Park, her husband removed the mezuzah from the doorway, much to the chagrin of the Jews who came to visit him after he’d moved in. Matt’s not big on religious stuff of any stripe.

Even though we are surrounded with Jewish friends and neighbors, how many of us really understand what this holy day means?

Autumn is a really good time for a the kind of introspection and meditation that leads of to be really honest with ourselves. As the harvest is being brought in and the earth is being cleared of her bounty for the year, it’s good to clean out the closets of our hearts and minds as well. The kind of practice that allows us to open ourselves to the things we’d rather not think about or face is not an easy one to master. Most of us would rather ignore the slights or short-cuts we’ve committed.

In terms of how bad some of our actions are, I’m sure there are folks who are wondering what Bernie Madoff is praying for today. It’s all a matter of perspective, though. If something I should have done, but didn’t, caused someone with an already overloaded life to have to add one more thing to the to-do list, isn’t that something I should be acknowledging and setting to rights? Does it matter that it’s not as bad as stealing the life savings of an elderly person? Here’s where one has to look into one’s own heart.

Honesty with one’s self is so terribly difficult sometimes. Being willing to admit that we can be rigid at the wrong times, flexible at the wrong times, callous when we should be caring, and caring about things that don’t matter… It’s all mental stuff that we carry around. Taking stock at this time of year enables us to unburden, and to do that which is sometimes hardest of all: forgive ourselves.

We gentiles could take a lesson here. Looking within and admitting to the things we are not proud of and asking forgiveness of whomever is a good practice. It causes us to be mindful of the fact that we will have to do something painful, like fess up next Yom Kippur, and perhaps that will deter us from being mean to one another.

I don’t know that it will solve all the world’s problems, but if giving one’s self peace of mind helps us to be better citizens of the world, then it’s worth whatever internal discomfort we undergo.

The book of Isaiah spends a lot of time telling the Jews that it’s one thing to talk the talk, but unless they walk the walk, God won’t be listening to them begging for help. If they shape up and do what they are supposed to, then all will be right with the world. Isn’t that the message we receive on a daily basis?

Isaiah 58: 9-10 “If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday.”

After admitting to ourselves the things we don’t want to admit to ourselves, it’s time to go forward. Move on - strive to think before we speak rashly and harshly, strive to take care of our own without neglecting those in need, and strive to forgive those who can’t seem to get it right, including ourselves. Yep. Yom Kippur is a really good thing for Jew and Gentile alike.

Mazel tov, y’all.

Getting Polled on a Slant Board

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25 September 2009

We have an interesting race for the Virginia House of Delegates going on in our area. A Republican resigned and now a city council member is running, as well as a lawyer from Botetourt county. Last night I was polled, and after a few questions, I figured the poll was for the Republican. You can always tell their slant. They worry more about raising taxes than they do about paying for state services like rest stops along the interstate or a full complement of teachers and university employees.

But, I was a good sport and went along with the thing. At the end, when I cracked up, and I do mean CRACKED UP, as the woman’s script told me the poll was paid for by the Republican, I think she was a little disconcerted. “You didn’t need to tell me THAT,” I chortled. “I could tell by the way the questions were slanted and intended to inflame!” She bravely soldiered on with her spiel and we hung up amicably.

Here it is. The man is wants to paint the Democratic candidate in the light of being secretive. (She voted for a closed door session to fire the city manager.) Um, people, it was a personnel discussion. Those are ALWAYS behind closed doors to give the employee the privacy they deserve.

He wanted to know if I favored budget cuts or raising taxes. Well, how in the name of goddess does the dummy expect to pay for anything? We already are a state chock full of Northern Virginia millionaires (the Mars family? the Reynolds family?) who could probably fund the state’s highway restroom facilities without even blinking an eye. Our taxes are not high and the stupid general assembly hangs onto the state ABC stores like they are some sacred cow. Just think of the state employees that we wouldn’t have on the books… For every ABC employee, we could fund another teacher!

I’m not saying I’m crazy about the Democratic candidate. I’m not. She’s got a snippy know-it-all attitude that I find downright annoying, and I do not look to her to be too responsive to the citizens’ requests or suggestions. However, I am sick and tired of the deadlock in Richmond. The Republicans have had their chance and Virginia has slipped from being dragged kicking and screaming into the 19th century to the 18th century.

That said, it’s time to get off the dime, mow and trim the front lawn to a fair-thee-well and post a couple of campaign signs in the yard. I’m going to start with the candidate for sheriff, Frank Garrett. I worked with him when he was a school resource officer. My deputy friends all want him as their boss, and I think they are the best judge of who will repair the broken windows at the jail and such. As a school resource officer, he was a stand-up guy. He was a straight shooter, no pun intended, and worked well with teachers as well as the kids he was trying to keep on the straight and narrow. He knows there are two sides to every story. I like that in a person.

Home and Resting Comfortably

24 September 2009
Big Kitty and I have returned to our little home here in the holler alongside Snob Crick. We’ve been traveling in the Midwest, first for our nephew’s wedding, and then to the old hometown to check up on The Uncles.

The wedding was lovely. They were married in a neighborhood Missouri Synod Lutheran church that is quite charming and small. The pastor looked like Friar Tuck without the tonsure, and was at the door greeting wedding guests. I have to give him points for working the crowd. Of course, being Missouri Synod, they are one step removed from Catholicism, I think, which I found rather interesting. The bride’s Catholic relatives seemed comfortable enough, while the groom’s Unitarian aunt and uncle felt pretty out of place. I think that’s a pretty accurate way of putting it, she said, chuckling.

Anyway, the sermon focused on trying to make the faith appeal to a trader for the Chicago Board of Trade. I noticed it did not address the needs of the bride nearly to the degree of work put into the groom. My college pals would say the guy had a looooooong way to go to live up to The Relevant Rev’s reputation for making religion relevant to young people. Of course, Reverend McClanahan was a Presbyterian college chaplain, so maybe that gave him a handicap for scoring purposes!

We’d been bussed to the wedding, which was neat, and then we were bussed to the reception, which was in a restaurant that overlooks the Chicago River. (I can remember a time when that would not have been too wonderful, so let’s give Mayor Richie high marks for cleaning up his town.) Everything was scheduled on a spreadsheet and we were appropriately herded here and there according to the master plan. Our pictures were taken with a Polaroid camera and inserted in a special album. We were then to offer congratulations on the page.

Weddings seem to be so complicated these days. Brides feel compelled to leave bags of welcome items at the hotel check-in for guests, for heaven’s sake. There are lots of details that people did in the 1950s - like printed cocktail napkins - but abandoned for thirty years for so. For instance, this wedding had a logo which was a line outline of the Chicago skyline. It adorned everything from the stamp on the welcome bag to the invitations. It was a creative touch, but I have to wonder if it didn’t just make a whole lot of busywork for an already busy bride and groom.

The details don’t end there. There is a ton of minutiae that goes into these things and this bride and groom are by no means alone with all these preparations. Just one look at the racks and racks of wedding magazines and planners tells the whole tale of an industry built on creating royal weddings for commoners.

The bottom line has more to do with the bringing together of two people who are in love and who want to share their lives, but that concept becomes lost in all the other “stuff” that “must” be done. Ultimately, what we old fogies have to remember is that the young people want a huge two day party for their friends. So, we have to roll our eyes in the privacy of our own rooms and allow the youngsters to play out the big dream wedding.

We wish the happy couple well with blessings for many blissful years together. We hope they learn how to fight fairly, forgive and forget, and how to enjoy each other’s company more than anyone else’s.

Recently I saw I. Corinthians 13: 4 - 7 paraphrased on a bracelet. “Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not rejoice in evils but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”  I am no fan of Paul, but those lines truly do stand the test of time when it comes to ALL human relationships, whether it is with one’s friends, neighbors or in-laws.

Like I said, Big Kitty and I wish Steve and Raegan all the best. May they enjoy hitting the dance floor as much as we do!

Unitarian Universalists Won’t Get Any Respect Unless They Demand It

11 September 2009

I awoke before dawn this morning, still feeling unsettled by the emotional turmoil of yesterday. In the distance I could hear the thrum of a train locomotive. It stayed in one place for several minutes. Thanks to John McPhee, I know that it could have been waiting for a fresh crew. Or it could have been waiting for the green light. I wondered what it was like for the people who live closer to the tracks. My experience with those kinds of noises are buried deep in my memory; they are now the sensations that remind me of a two story stucco house on U.S. 51 with its windows wide open in July, hoping to catch a breeze off the prairie. Train locomotives conjur pleasant memories of walking along the tracks with Grandma, Aunt Rose and Mike, or of catching the Rock Island Rocket and sliding into LaSalle Street Station.

But this morning, with an unsettled heart and the comfort of a couple of purring felines, I gripped my minimug of Lavazza and pondered the arc my life seems to have taken, the journeys I have made and those yet to come. At some point each of us has to come to terms with what’s deep inside, be they memories evoked by the sound of a diesel locomotive, or the strength of our convictions. It is to that well we must go to draw whatever wisdom we can, and it is something we must often do with more courage than we normally can muster.

I have found myself in the position of having to draw the line in order to have my religious convictions respected. We hear a lot of ranting by the religious right on this topic. They feel they don’t get enough respect for being Christian. I have news for them. They ought to try being a Unitarian Universalist in a sea of holier than thou Christians and non-practicing Christians who have never really examined their own beliefs.

You see, it isn’t that we Unitarian Universalists don’t believe in anything, or that we can believe whatever we want. No, indeed, it is the work we must put into our search for religious truth that goes unnoticed. Most of us take a rather insouciant attitude when discussing these things with non UUs, and that’s because it’s so doggone hard to describe our religion. Among ourselves, we breathe a sigh of relief and settle into the lively discussions that characterize us as a group. What the outside world doesn’t see is the responsibility we take on when we sign the membership book, or when we simply identify ourselves as Unitarian Universalist.

My own religious path has been circuitous. My family was nominally United Church of Christ, or Unitarians Considering Christ as the wags would have it. My mother insisted I be confirmed, even though she never made me go to Sunday school. And I do mean never. So I endured a year’s worth of Saturday mornings with an elderly former Evangelical and Reformed minister who never quite made the leap to the new identity of his church. While my counterparts up the street at the Congregational church were getting catechism from Reverend Jones with the UCC materials, our guy stuck to the ancient little blue E&R catechism books. My guess is that he had cases of the things stashed and wasn’t about to buy new ones.

I rebelled in a very passive aggressive way. I just wouldn’t do the homework. I read through the whole book and concluded there was nothing in there that I could buy into. So I went because my mother made me, didn’t memorize the pieces and pretty much caused Reverend Klefmann a lot of grief by very obviously not going along with the drill. (We weren’t supposed to ask questions and he sure as hell didn’t offer any explanations.) When it was time to be confirmed, I had my little things I was supposed to spout off during the church service, and in the interest of keeping my business to myself, I memorized those. I did my bit and the following Sunday was allowed to take communion. Big deal, I thought. Mogen David wine in little glass cups.

Thanks to a Unitarian Universalist minister I met in grad school at University of Chicago, I would occasionally go to church. I loosely timed it around the time of my mother’s death, and honestly, for no particular reason. We visited other churches, but he never took me to a UU church. It went on like that - maybe close to twenty years worth of sporadic church attendance, and always walking away wondering why I had bothered.

A stint as a secretary for a huge Presbyterian church in Evanston was the turning point for me in terms of organized religion. You have only to work for a church to decide religion is a scourge. During a board meeting, the all male board asked the senior minister if I was a Christian - in front of me like I wasn’t even there.  He replied that no, I wasn’t. Y’know, I took issue with that. I declared to that bunch of morons that I had indeed been confirmed in the United Church of Christ, and if that wasn’t Christian than that was a new one on me.

But, in truth, the man was right. I just didn’t know it.

When you move to the South from places like the Midwest, where religion and politics are considered impolite dinner topics unless one is dining with intimates, and the first thing they ask is A) who are your people, and B) which church do you attend, it gives pause. Big Kitty rolls his eyes when I say that’s like asking a woman her bra size, but it’s true. What I discovered is that because the word Christ is in the name, I could sorta get by with UCC. The trouble was, there wasn’t a UCC church, so they embarked on a plan to convert me to the Baptist faith. Lord have mercy, as they say around these parts.

About that time I was indulging my inner history geek and plowing through the multi-volume set of Dumas Malone’s biography of Thomas Jefferson. There was a lot in there on Jefferson’s religious explorations, which I found fascinating. The almanacs all list him as a Deist, but the truth is, he identified himself as a Unitarian. Being a fanatic about the architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright, I knew that his family were devoutly Unitarian - one grandfather was a Unitarian preacher in Wales, and his uncle, Jenkin Lloyd Jones, was a Unitarian minister in Chicago. When he lived in Oak Park, Illinois with his mother and sisters, it was with a stern and imposing woman who was the Universalist minister.

It wouldn’t take much to figure out where this is going…my friend in Chicago mailed me a copy of the Rev. Jack Mendelsohn’s Why I Am a Unitarian Universalist. It goes by another title now, but that’s the copy I still own. In it, Jack (we UUs are all on a first name basis) explained his own experiences in, gasp!, the United Church of Christ, although his had been a Congregational church. I devoured that book. For the first time in my life, religion and the reasons people seek it, made sense to me.

The Rev. Dr. Timothy Ashton is the one responsible for my conversion, if you can call it that. Neil had let him know I would be sneaking into the back pew and he kept a look out for me. His sermons expanded my realm of thought and my rational little ole mind had plenty to chew on throughout the week. When he left, I was on my own. I liked the new minister, and would happily break bread with him, but his sermons never had a beginning, a middle and an end. He didn’t keep to that rule of tell ‘em what you’re going to say, say it, tell them what you said, so I never got the point. I quit going to church because I figured I was the only one. I wasn’t, which was a comfort to learn, but when you are used to being told you are clueless, it’s easy to assign the same blame to yourself.

Ultimately, it was the experience with other UUs during a week long summer conference that cemented my belief I was in the right place. My present church no longer offers the spiritual zest I need, but my religious nature is fed each summer, so it’s okay. Without the connections at that conference, SUUSI, I never in a million years would have read the Bible cover to cover in order to come to some conclusions about where I stood. I also would never have been able to articulate my beliefs to my late neighbor, a Reformed Jew. We had a rather lively conversation in which he questioned me rather rigorously, and when it was over he said, “You, my dear, are a very good Jew.” I was honored.

And that brings me to the thing that is so damned hard for many Unitarian Universalists. We are unable to articulate our beliefs. Our denomination charges us with the responsibility to seek religious truth, and people do that, religiously. But explaining it, or more importantly, looking like we are practicing a religion, is difficult. It is a huge weakness. The outside world sees our denomination for all its work in social justice, but they don’t necessarily see us as religious people, and that’s because we are non-creedal. We’re a rather non-denominational denomination. Our people have beliefs that range from honestly Christian all the way to devoutly pagan. I’m talking, Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism, you name it… We draw from all the great world religions in order to arrive at what makes sense to us.

What is confusing to the outside world is that they won’t get the same answer to their question from even a married couple. What do you guys believe? Big Kitty will say one thing and I’ll say another. This causes a great deal of confusion. However we also are painfully aware of the fact that we aren’t respected for our religious beliefs, either. People wouldn’t dream of considering someone of a primitive Baptist faith as having no religion, but they have no compunction about dismissing us as not having a religion.

Because we don’t go out there and talk it up like the Baptists do, and because the Baptists tend to take their brand of Christianity so seriously, we often find ourselves in situations where our religion could get us fired. Oh, yeah, there are laws, but in a right to work state, “he didn’t fit in” has a lot of different meanings. He was gay, he was a Jew, he was___ fill in the blank. More often than not it was what he wasn’t.  He wasn’t the right flavor of Christian.

In my family, we stuck out because the rest of them were Catholic, and indeed most people I meet assume that because my mother was Italian that I was raised a Catholic. For the record, I liked going to mass with my friend Julie Anne more than I did my own church. This annoyed the hell out of my mother. My dearest Aunt Mary would mutter under her breath, “Damn Catholics” every time I reported another slight from the little girls in her neighborhood. We used to get this, “Sister says you’re going to hell because you aren’t a Catholic,” and Aunt Mary would go over the edge. Aunt Mary excelled at righteous indignation and I loved her for it. You always knew she was in your corner.

Watching the funeral mass for Senator Kennedy, I had a sense of things being right with the world. I have plenty of experience with the Catholic funeral mass, so I know what to expect, I know the liturgy and I understand what’s going on. It is this sameness that Catholics can rely on. Sure it’s rote, but it’s also comforting to them. And strangely enough, I never, in all those times I went to church with Julie Anne, felt I was being beat over the head with Jesus. Contrast that with a Baptist funeral where all they talk about it gloom and doom - it’s like they are having a funeral service for Jesus himself instead of the dearly departed. It’s scary.

My immediate family is rather dismissive of me in general, so it’s no surprise that they don’t get that I am deeply religious. Again, Unitarian Universalists don’t look like they are religious. They don’t meet around the flagpole to pray. They don’t worry about sin and going to hell. Some of us are atheists. It’s hard for civilians to understand how an atheist can be religious. But they can be and many are. It’s called being open to religious truth wherever you find it.

Jerry had it on the money with his pronouncement that I am a good Jew. And Ernie was right when he told that board I wasn’t a Christian. No, I don’t believe the messiah has come, nor do I believe there will be a messiah. I think humans need to accept responsibility for the state of the world and not go around expecting the second coming to fix everything. They need to fix it themselves. Now. Not some time in the future.

The mythology of Jesus’ birth can be found in many other world religions - most notably paganism. Historically, we know that the prophet Jesus of Nazareth was interested in Jews being better Jews, and that he roamed the countryside trying to improve the lot of people with needs. When it looked like he was making some headway, the Romans got pressured into dealing with him. It’s not so different with what happens to any politician who starts making headway with social change.

My convictions are important to me. All the business about the trinity happened because it was a political move, not something guided by a religious belief. So, no, I’m still in the same spot I was when I told Reverend Klefmann I didn’t believe in ghosts. I do believe we humans hold the key. I believe it is the spirit within us that will save us all from doom and destruction. That spirit, I’ve come to believe, had to come from somewhere, and unlike my atheist brethren, I’m content to let that spark be something a higher power has ignited in each of us. When I light my chalice in worship, I am lighting that which is within me, only in a tangible way.

When I participate in ritual, my spiritual energy comes across to others, I have been told. It’s the kind of energy that is healing and grounding. It is also the kind of energy that disrupts people who do not hold deep spiritual beliefs. In their discomfort, they react in ways that protect themselves, rather than open themselves. UUs experience this a lot. We let it go, normally, but every now and then, you just have to screech to a halt and make them pay attention. You have to make them respect the fact that you do, in fact, have religious convictions. You have to educate them about Unitarian Universalism as it pertains to your own truth.

Mine is simple. You wouldn’t ask a Jew to read from the New Testament, would you? Well, then you need to extend the same religious respect to me. You can’t expect me to drop my beliefs at the door and just blow it off. The respect you accord to others of different faiths is exactly what I expect and especially, what I deserve. I’d do the same for you.

Old People Just Crabbing Because We Can



10 September 2009

Big Kitty and I were having our daily dinnertime discussion and he was chuckling about the poor French who are being advised to eschew their traditional cheek kisses. It seems the French public health people are pointing out that this could be a swine flu spreader, and old habits are dying hard. Those cheek kisses are their way of being polite, for pete’s sake!

At the same time, I read in today’s paper about the college professors who are battling the ignorance of their students when it comes to classroom decorum. I have news for them. This is something public school teachers have been grousing about for much longer, and we’re sorry it’s only just now hitting college level, but now they have a better idea of what we’re up against in trying to educate young ones.

Big Kitty and I were remarking on the demise of public civility in general. Even here, in the South where it’s more important to address some lady as Ma’am than it is to keep one’s elbows off the table, the incivility is rampant and rather disconcerting for old ladies like me. That an old duffer like Big Kitty, whose language is nearly as bad as my dearly departed father’s was, noted the lack of manners came as no surprise. He’s a bit old school when it comes to some things. Can’t get him to write his own thank you notes, but there are some issues the guy is downright picky about.

Anyway, we oldsters were cluck-clucking, as oldsters are wont to do, and the subject of cell phones came up. My big gripe is drivers who are blab-blabbing as they meander through parking lots in trucks big enough to carry the 81st Airborne. His big gripe is people who wander aimlessly in stores, pushing a shopping cart, which then becomes as dangerous as those trucks they have in the parking lot.

If I hear “I have to take this” one more time, I might snatch somebody’s Blackberry and hurl it into the nearest water feature. No, Honey, you don’t have to take this. You can let it go to voicemail. Ain’t nobody going to have a massive breakdown if they can’t speak to you this second. The other one is sitting with someone who keeps checking that damned phone the entire time you are trying to have some civil discourse on a topic of mutual interest. I want to say, “How about you just go on and have lunch with your text buddy and I’ll just slide on out of here and run to T.J. Maxx.”

Then there are the ones who carry on conversations in the check-out line at the store. My cashier friends at my friendly Food Lion and The Fresh Market get kinda worked up about those situations, but they are too mannerly to just stop the line and wait for the person to hang up. I feel their pain, and they feel mine. The only person who doesn’t feel pain is the pain him or herself!

The college professors are insulted by the familiarity with which the young people address them. Shocking, but there it is. We are past the age where parents are mortified by their children’s poor manners. Even in the South where you are Ma’am whether you like it or not.

I have no solutions. I’m having one of those days that Holly Golightly described as the mean reds. Yapping about something I can’t do anything about is a good tension reliever, but a ten pound box of dark chocolate covered Fannie Mae caramels would be even better. (I’ve given up on Frangos. They aren’t as good as when they were made by the Marshall Field candy makers. Quality’s in the cellar where the candy kitchen ain’t no mo’.) If one of you has some good ideas about restoring civility to this country, call Barack on his Blackberry. I wonder if he interrupts meetings with “I gotta take this…”

The Letters of Paul: Except They Probably Aren’t



My friends and I have been having a lively and interesting discussion about the use of Paul’s writings for weddings. I threw the subject out there to see what others thought and I’ve enjoyed the responses. It’s also been fun to toss in my heretical point of view, as well.

The passage in question happened to be from a letter allegedly written by Paul to the Ephesians (5, 1-2 and 22-31). According to my Harper’s Study Bible, there is ample evidence that this wasn’t written by Paul, but rather by his followers according to what he taught. So, technically, we are speaking of Paul once or twice removed.

Nevertheless, I have no use for Paul (or his disciples) as the be-all and end-all that Protestant preachers want him (them) to be. My friend Kay says that for a Jew during his time, Paul was expressing some liberal ideas. But if you read a little farther, in Ephesians 6, 5 -8 Paul tells slaves to obey their masters! Oops. Not too liberal, in my opinion.

So we have been dissecting this concept and it’s been interesting that the feminists are definitely against the use of Paul, and the people who have been raised as Southern Baptists are trying to skirt the issue by saying Paul spoke of love and respect.

Bishop Tony Hash commented, “Hmmm though not the best reading, if you continue further to verse 25, Paul teaches the husband to love the wife as Jesus loved the church. Through this perfect love there is no subjugation so Paul contradicts himself. In true love no one is higher than the one you love so in reality the wife is in control in the husband’s eyes!” I had to laugh at that one. Talk about circular!

But was there a church for Jesus to love? Technically, not. Jesus was a Jew and all he was trying to do was cause the hierarchy of the Jews to behave better toward their disadvantaged brethren. He was against the way the Pharisees treated the rank and file Jews, and he was vocal about it. Was he the Messiah? I doubt he thought so. Humility seemed to be his strong suit. All he was suggesting was that if people followed what he was teaching, everyone would be better off.

Did Paul really teach what Jesus taught? It’s hard to say for sure, given when the gospels were written and when Paul had his big conversion. What we do know is that Paul was a higher up in the Judaic scene, so he was a learned man. He was also a zealot, and those are the ones that scare the heck out of me. Where Jesus was trying to improve Judaism, Paul was doing what Paul wanted and saying it was in Jesus’ name. In Jesus’ name, I enslave you.

Paul’s conflicted feelings about women were apparent in the translations of his writing. What I don’t understand is why modern Protestant ministers seem to be so enamored with Paul. You can’t just pick and choose from his writing and decree him a great religious leader. You have to look at the entire body of his work, and if you do, you see that he was a moralist. At the same time, he blamed others, namely women, for leading men astray.And, if the evidence is correct, who’s to say that the followers of Paul might not have kicked it up a notch?

Why do ministers keep drilling on the same passages that are so wrong-headed in the treatment of women? You have only to live in the Bible Belt with Southern Redneck men who think it is their duty to beat their wives into submission, or to rape their wives when their wives won’t submit themselves sexually, to be mighty wary of the words of Paul. We don’t have to lead men astray. They do a mighty fine job of it on their own. You hear me talkin’, Paul-baby?

Moralists like Paul are appealing to literal believers because they offer simplistic answers that don’t require independent thinking. Believers can just go through the motions without challenging anything and be perfectly content. BGF once tried to explain the trinity to me. I waved him off. It’s not that I don’t understand it, I explained to him, I just don’t believe in it. I gave it plenty of thought when I was supposed to be memorizing pieces in the Evangelical and Reformed catechism. The other kids were doing this rote thing, and here I was, thirteen years old and driving the elderly minister insane because I didn’t believe in ghosts.

But back to appropriate wedding readings. I don’t approve of Paul. Period. But if a young couple can’t get married without something from Paul, why not Colossians 3, 12- 17? I’d leave out 15-17, but then I’m not Christian.

The passage talks about loving and forgiveness. The hardest thing any couple has to learn how to do is forgive. Forgiveness is tough. The trick, though, is letting go. Grudges have a habit of getting stuck in our craws, and it’s way too easy to leave them there. Forgiveness while letting go is a huge challenge. All longtime married people agree this is the one thing they’ve had to work at the most.

When the aunts rebelled and decreed their niece wasn’t getting married to the tune of Paul, it was because we three are feminists who came up when women were thick in the fight for equality. That fight still isn’t over, but younger women seem blithely unaware of what it was like in the day, and they don’t seem to understand that a bunch of male legislators have the power to set us right back to square one…men who will quote Paul the entire time they are doing it.

My mother had it right, and she wasn’t quoting Paul – “Forgive and forget,” she’d say. She wasn’t alive when I got married, but it was a lesson I never forgot. That’s the verse I’d really like to be reading to these young people.

The Seasons of Julia’s Cuisine

3 September 2009
We’re at that time of year when there are things in the air that awaken my allergies. We’re having some rather nippy nights, which are ‘good sleeping weather,’ and the idea that there are hurricanes brewing is somewhat odd in light of the crisper air.

At any rate, my tomatoes are about ready to be yanked out and sent to the trash heap, the September asters are brightly purple, and the weeds that took hold during the never-ending rain of August are in need of eradication. In the midst of all this, I took myself to the movies today.

After all this time, Big Kitty finally manned up and admitted he had no desire to see Julie and Julia. So, off I went, enjoying a bag of not-that-fresh popcorn and a Barq’s for lunch. I was the only one there, so I settled in, put my feet up (not something I do when there are others around) and waited for the movie to start. The Grandin was playing 1940s music and the Mills Brothers came on, singing I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm.

I once read that Dean Martin admired the Mills Brothers and modeled his own singing on them. From that song, I finally got it. It was absolutely appropriate, as I watched the Childs’ Buick station wagon being lowered onto a dock. The scene where Julia tastes the fish that changed her life was hilarious. This is the late 1940s and she was quite the fashion plate. They had to pad Meryl Streep up to eliminate her waist, as Julia Child was a fairly straight up and down kind of longjohn.

Everyone is talking about Streep’s performance, and it was great. But it was Stanley Tucci who stole my heart. He played Paul Child just as I imagined him. Neat, tidy, and exacting. He was also happy to eat what Julia made him and encouraged her to follow her bliss in the kitchen.

It takes a certain kind of guy to do that. Julie Powell’s husband went along with her grand cooking project. Big Kitty certainly never turns down a good meal, either, and has learned over the years, not to disappear for hours on end right before a big dinner party. The melt down isn’t worth it!

For husbands, wives or partners who do not cook, the things that happen in the kitchen are something akin to alchemy. They are apt to wander by periodically just to open jars or make sure there aren’t any wounds to bind, but mostly they stay clear of the process. At least my dear one does. His participation in any culinary event is to open the wine, and that is after I’ve prompted him to do so. No Paul Child with true foodie instincts he. His foodie tendencies are coming along, however, and I am never prouder than when he can pick out the flavors and suggest that it needs a pinch more of something. I am on Cloud 9 when eating out and he opines that the way I make something is much better.

I just made an interesting beef stew from an herb cookbook called Summer Delights. It isn’t boeuf a la bourguignonne at all. Uses a bottle of dark beer and smells fabulous while it bakes. This was on the heels of a wonderful sole recipe that was delicate, but flavorful. Big Kitty said it could have been bland, but was actually very tasty and that he liked it.

With the weather starting to turn, however, I am looking at MtAoFC with the eyes of a cook who likes to go with the seasons. When you stop to think of it, the Paris of Julia’s time was that of a country eating only what was in season, so that is how her cooking went, as well. In the slow cooking movement, as well as in the locavore movement, all of us are learning that everything tastes better when it doesn’t have to travel, and when it is in season where we live.

I’m eyeballing the out-of-print Simca’s Cuisine at the AAUW book sale. Simone Beck was a great home cook, as was Julia Child. But for those who do not read recipes through and plan accordingly, neither book will work. I am not the world’s best cook, but after all these years, I know my way around the kitchen and can attest to the horror of finding myself without a key tool or ingredient. Still, I guess what was daunting to me was the idea that the books involved haute cuisine. Not true, as I am learning.
It was a cute movie and I know I’ll want the DVD so I can watch it over and over. I suspect there will be French food on the table this fall and winter, and I am smug because I know how very little different it is from Italian home cooking. Maybe Santa will bring me The French Chef DVDs to bolster the effort!
Bon appetit!