"Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
Early in the morning
Our song shall rise to Thee;
Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty!
God in three persons, blessed Trinity!"
Hearing this song - let alone singing it - took me way back. I’m talking way, way back. They didn’t even sing "Holy, Holy, Holy" in the Catholic church when I was a young teenager. They sang it there when I was a little boy, when my parents felt I was old enough to take to Mass. I’m talking my Grandma’s Catholic church.
And this was the second time in recent months that the song was being sung. It was quite a jolt for me, after years of being at home in a silent, universalistic, unprogrammed Quaker meeting and even with me being as Christo-centric as I tend to be.
What was even more jolting was that the song was being sung, full-throated and whole-heartedly, by a room full of GLBTQ folks. Make that a church full of GLBTQ folks. Lead by a very out and very strong lesbian pastor.
I have been visiting - "sojourning," as I announced to my meeting - at a Metropolitan Community Church, and it has been quite eye-opening, to say the very least.
Moving is more like it - powerfully so. I have written several posts here about Jesus and his message of radical love and inclusiveness, of loving the other and even one’s enemies, have been hijacked and distorted by Christian conservatives and fundamentalists to, among other things, oppress the queer community. The M.C.C, a Christian church founded by a gay man to minister to the GLBTQ community, boldly reclaims Jesus and points out his true, original message of love for and to all. Although I see Jesus more as a teacher and model than as a virgin-born, resurrected savior, as posited by the M.C.C, I am deeply inspired by how the church not only takes back the Christ-centered language as its own but also so plainly illustrates how it also specifically affirms same-sex love.
Even so, I wasn’t prepared for the next song on the recent Sunday morning:
"Jesus loves me, this I know,
Though my hair is white as snow.
Though my sight is growing dim,
Still He bids me trust in Him.
Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me,
For the Bible tells me so!"
Wow! A bunch of gay men and lesbians singing that the Bible tells them that, yes, Jesus loves them. A bunch of queer folks singing "Yes, Jesus Loves Me," which I always thought of as a conservative, Southern Baptist, that-old-time-religion song (we didn’t even sing it at Mass). That’s some powerful stuff. Not only that - it’s power.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Clearing the air
The Los Angeles City Council has recently passed an ordinance limiting the number and location of medicinal marijuana dispensaries. This happened after two or three years of the council dithering and bickering over the issue, during which time - and despite a moratorium - something like 700 dispensaries opened, turning L.A into a pot - er, medicinal marijuana - mecca. A fair number of people, concerned about crime, etc., were not, to say the least, getting a good buzz from this.
I have to say that this mess was caused by Proposition 215, the passage of which made California the first state to legalize medicinal marijuana despite the federal ban. I voted for Prop. 215 and am still all for it in principle. I very much believe that people who are ill, in pain, can’t hold down food, etc. should have easy access to the soothing herb and not fear getting arrested. The problem is that it was written so sloppily, leaving everyone confused if not dazed.
Now, the L.A ordinance is being called one of the toughest, and the med-pot advocates are now the ones grumbling. Among other things, the ordinance dictates
...that there be no more than 70 dispensaries (actually about 150 with the old ones that can stay).
...that a dispensary can’t be within 1,000 feet of a school, park, library, place of worship and other such "sensitive" sites.
...that the dispensaries have to close at 8 p.m, and that the cannabis can’t be consumed on the premises.
What I’m wondering is, what’s so wrong with there being strict regulations?
Yes, some of the restrictions are a bit too strict and unfair - like the one prohibiting a dispensary from operating across the street or an alley from residential properties. This will make it far more difficult to find a location. But, for the most part, the restrictions make perfect sense.
For example, why would someone who is ill or in pain want to go out and get medicine at 11 at night? It is better to go in the daytime, when it is easier to get around and more help is available.
And why shouldn’t the dispensaries be prohibited, as I believe they will be under the new law, from having names such as "Temple 420" and being decorated with big, neon pot leaves and red, yellow, green and black paint jobs?
Such displays, as well as being open late at night and other things, feeds the argument that medicinal marijuana is being used as a way to get pot for recreational use. Don’t get me started on those doctors in Hawaiian print shirts who sit in empty offices and hand out prescriptions for marijuana to anyone who claims to have a headache or writer’s cramp.
Giving relief to those who are sick or in pain is a very legitimate, very serious business, and it should be seen and done as such. Otherwise, medicinal marijuana will be another Cheech and Chong comedy, and that would be a tragedy.
I have long argued that Claremont should have a medicinal marijuana dispensary. With all its professors and strong community activists, Claremont can show how to do it in the right, serious, caring way. Very sadly, after a smart aleck opened a dispensary without a permit from the city, the City Council, after voting to allow dispensaries, took the opposite tack, reversed its earlier decision and banned dispensaries in Claremont.
I have to say that this mess was caused by Proposition 215, the passage of which made California the first state to legalize medicinal marijuana despite the federal ban. I voted for Prop. 215 and am still all for it in principle. I very much believe that people who are ill, in pain, can’t hold down food, etc. should have easy access to the soothing herb and not fear getting arrested. The problem is that it was written so sloppily, leaving everyone confused if not dazed.
Now, the L.A ordinance is being called one of the toughest, and the med-pot advocates are now the ones grumbling. Among other things, the ordinance dictates
...that there be no more than 70 dispensaries (actually about 150 with the old ones that can stay).
...that a dispensary can’t be within 1,000 feet of a school, park, library, place of worship and other such "sensitive" sites.
...that the dispensaries have to close at 8 p.m, and that the cannabis can’t be consumed on the premises.
What I’m wondering is, what’s so wrong with there being strict regulations?
Yes, some of the restrictions are a bit too strict and unfair - like the one prohibiting a dispensary from operating across the street or an alley from residential properties. This will make it far more difficult to find a location. But, for the most part, the restrictions make perfect sense.
For example, why would someone who is ill or in pain want to go out and get medicine at 11 at night? It is better to go in the daytime, when it is easier to get around and more help is available.
And why shouldn’t the dispensaries be prohibited, as I believe they will be under the new law, from having names such as "Temple 420" and being decorated with big, neon pot leaves and red, yellow, green and black paint jobs?
Such displays, as well as being open late at night and other things, feeds the argument that medicinal marijuana is being used as a way to get pot for recreational use. Don’t get me started on those doctors in Hawaiian print shirts who sit in empty offices and hand out prescriptions for marijuana to anyone who claims to have a headache or writer’s cramp.
Giving relief to those who are sick or in pain is a very legitimate, very serious business, and it should be seen and done as such. Otherwise, medicinal marijuana will be another Cheech and Chong comedy, and that would be a tragedy.
I have long argued that Claremont should have a medicinal marijuana dispensary. With all its professors and strong community activists, Claremont can show how to do it in the right, serious, caring way. Very sadly, after a smart aleck opened a dispensary without a permit from the city, the City Council, after voting to allow dispensaries, took the opposite tack, reversed its earlier decision and banned dispensaries in Claremont.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Too P.C or not too P.C?
For about a year now, I’ve been puzzling over the case of Matthew Kim, a teacher who a judge just recently ordered the Los Angeles Unified School District to fire.
I first learned of Matthew Kim when he was featured in a series of articles in the Los Angeles Times about how hard it is to fire teachers. According to what the Times found, the teacher unions have been so careful to ensure that tenured teachers aren’t fired arbitrarily or without sound cause that the appeals process can take years. Mr. Kim was one of dozens of teachers being "housed" during this appeals process, meaning that they can’t work in the classroom but have to show up at an office or perhaps call in from home while still being paid their salary.
As odd as this is, I find the facts in Mr. Kim’s case even odder. One fact is that the primary reason why Mr. Kim was dismissed is that he allegedly touched some of his female students in "inappropriate" ways. The other fact is that Mr. Kim is disabled - he has Cerebral Palsy, uses a wheelchair and has impaired speech - and claims that his movements were involuntary when he touched the girls.
Excuse me, but am I the only one who finds this whole thing ridiculous and downright silly? Or am I being totally uncool and not politically correct bringing this up at all?
For one thing, it is certainly curious that Mr. Kim had involuntary movements only around girls and not around boys.
What I find most puzzling, though - and here I venture deep into political incorrectness - is that the school district had someone this disabled teaching in a grade school classroom.
Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s fantastic and cool for kids to have a disabled teacher. (Think of all the prejudice it would eliminate.) And I’m all for making accommodations and being P.C. But, even if Mr. Kim had a bunch of aids, isn’t this stretching it a bit too far?
There are certain thing the disabled can’t do. At least, the disability and its severity should be seriously considered. It is a bit like me wanting to be a fireman.
Am just I being un-P.C, or was the school district too P.C?
I first learned of Matthew Kim when he was featured in a series of articles in the Los Angeles Times about how hard it is to fire teachers. According to what the Times found, the teacher unions have been so careful to ensure that tenured teachers aren’t fired arbitrarily or without sound cause that the appeals process can take years. Mr. Kim was one of dozens of teachers being "housed" during this appeals process, meaning that they can’t work in the classroom but have to show up at an office or perhaps call in from home while still being paid their salary.
As odd as this is, I find the facts in Mr. Kim’s case even odder. One fact is that the primary reason why Mr. Kim was dismissed is that he allegedly touched some of his female students in "inappropriate" ways. The other fact is that Mr. Kim is disabled - he has Cerebral Palsy, uses a wheelchair and has impaired speech - and claims that his movements were involuntary when he touched the girls.
Excuse me, but am I the only one who finds this whole thing ridiculous and downright silly? Or am I being totally uncool and not politically correct bringing this up at all?
For one thing, it is certainly curious that Mr. Kim had involuntary movements only around girls and not around boys.
What I find most puzzling, though - and here I venture deep into political incorrectness - is that the school district had someone this disabled teaching in a grade school classroom.
Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s fantastic and cool for kids to have a disabled teacher. (Think of all the prejudice it would eliminate.) And I’m all for making accommodations and being P.C. But, even if Mr. Kim had a bunch of aids, isn’t this stretching it a bit too far?
There are certain thing the disabled can’t do. At least, the disability and its severity should be seriously considered. It is a bit like me wanting to be a fireman.
Am just I being un-P.C, or was the school district too P.C?
Thursday, January 21, 2010
The crime of needing help
"I xxx xxxxx....!"
"I don’t understand you," the woman on the phone said.
As far as the woman was concerned, I may or may not have been a babbling idiot but was certainly speaking gibberish. As for me, I was certainly unwise and could well have been speaking gibberish.
Indeed, this wasn’t me. I was enraged - frighteningly so - feeling like a trapped animal, and I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t myself - or at least the nice, calm, thoughtful, quakerly self that I like.
I had foolishly taken the phone from my attendant and was shouting at the woman. No, I didn’t expect her to understand me, but I wanted her to see - at least hear - that I’m for real, that I’m really disabled and in need of assistance. I wanted her to see that I wasn’t lying, that I wasn’t committing fraud.
That’s how I felt. That I was lying. That I was trying to get away with something and cheat the tax-funded system.
Last month, right in time for the holidays - ho, ho, ho! - I got my annual re-evaluation packet from the county housing authority, which administers my Section 8 rental subsidy from the federal Department of Housing and Urban Development. I dutifully filled out and signed the dozen or so forms and mailed them in, along with the various documents I always send, before they were due and thought that, as usual, all was well.
Then, last week, a woman from the Housing Authority called, saying that the documents I sent - the ones I always send - were "inadequate." She mentioned needing pay stubs and other things that didn’t make sense. She also said that I had a mandatory appointment with her at 9 a.m on January 27 and that if I don’t comply, my subsidy will be terminated.
My yelling at the woman didn’t help. Two days later, I received an official letter with a list of required documents and stating the "MANDATORY appointment" and the danger of termination. It still didn’t make sense, but I was not about to go to the office, like a scofflaw, especially during the morning rush hour traffic. I was also damned if I was going to my Section 8, which I have gotten for almost 20 years after being on a waiting list for a few years, because of a few pay stubs and whatnot.
To make a story of a long, stressful, exhausting week (during which, among other things, the woman from the Housing Authority, in another phone call, scolded my attendant for not knowing my business) short, I paid $12 yesterday to fax a slew of documents - everything I could think of - to the woman. I called her this morning, knowing she wouldn’t call me, and she said everything is fine and that I don’t have to go in on Wednesday.
Relieved as I was, I was almost disappointed. I was thinking of going in on the 27th, without my attendant (but with my documents), and seeing how she fared with me and my gibberish. I know - I’m wicked!
To be fair, the woman was just doing her job, probably under the gun, no doubt because the Section 8 program is, like with In-Home Supportive Services which funds my attendants, is under the gun due to rampant fraud. (See my 11/4 post.) But this doesn’t keep me from feeling like shit, feeling like I’m accused of a crime, having to fight to defend myself.
Not helping is Tuesday’s shocking Republican victory in Massachusetts for the U.S Senate seat long held by Ted Kennedy, dimming the hope for healthcare funding reform and other life-easing measures. Once again, fear - and money - triumphs.
"I don’t understand you," the woman on the phone said.
As far as the woman was concerned, I may or may not have been a babbling idiot but was certainly speaking gibberish. As for me, I was certainly unwise and could well have been speaking gibberish.
Indeed, this wasn’t me. I was enraged - frighteningly so - feeling like a trapped animal, and I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t myself - or at least the nice, calm, thoughtful, quakerly self that I like.
I had foolishly taken the phone from my attendant and was shouting at the woman. No, I didn’t expect her to understand me, but I wanted her to see - at least hear - that I’m for real, that I’m really disabled and in need of assistance. I wanted her to see that I wasn’t lying, that I wasn’t committing fraud.
That’s how I felt. That I was lying. That I was trying to get away with something and cheat the tax-funded system.
Last month, right in time for the holidays - ho, ho, ho! - I got my annual re-evaluation packet from the county housing authority, which administers my Section 8 rental subsidy from the federal Department of Housing and Urban Development. I dutifully filled out and signed the dozen or so forms and mailed them in, along with the various documents I always send, before they were due and thought that, as usual, all was well.
Then, last week, a woman from the Housing Authority called, saying that the documents I sent - the ones I always send - were "inadequate." She mentioned needing pay stubs and other things that didn’t make sense. She also said that I had a mandatory appointment with her at 9 a.m on January 27 and that if I don’t comply, my subsidy will be terminated.
My yelling at the woman didn’t help. Two days later, I received an official letter with a list of required documents and stating the "MANDATORY appointment" and the danger of termination. It still didn’t make sense, but I was not about to go to the office, like a scofflaw, especially during the morning rush hour traffic. I was also damned if I was going to my Section 8, which I have gotten for almost 20 years after being on a waiting list for a few years, because of a few pay stubs and whatnot.
To make a story of a long, stressful, exhausting week (during which, among other things, the woman from the Housing Authority, in another phone call, scolded my attendant for not knowing my business) short, I paid $12 yesterday to fax a slew of documents - everything I could think of - to the woman. I called her this morning, knowing she wouldn’t call me, and she said everything is fine and that I don’t have to go in on Wednesday.
Relieved as I was, I was almost disappointed. I was thinking of going in on the 27th, without my attendant (but with my documents), and seeing how she fared with me and my gibberish. I know - I’m wicked!
To be fair, the woman was just doing her job, probably under the gun, no doubt because the Section 8 program is, like with In-Home Supportive Services which funds my attendants, is under the gun due to rampant fraud. (See my 11/4 post.) But this doesn’t keep me from feeling like shit, feeling like I’m accused of a crime, having to fight to defend myself.
Not helping is Tuesday’s shocking Republican victory in Massachusetts for the U.S Senate seat long held by Ted Kennedy, dimming the hope for healthcare funding reform and other life-easing measures. Once again, fear - and money - triumphs.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
I don't want to play - or be played with
It could be a pawn. Or it could be a football. Whatever it is, I don’t want to be it.
I feel like I’m "it" - tag, another game - with the trial regarding same-sex marriage now going on in San Francisco. Stemming from California’s Proposition 8, the non-jury hearing, which will reportedly go on for a few weeks, is to determine whether or not it is unconstitutional - whether or not it is illegal - for gays to wed. This essentially means that I am on trial.
I am not saying that the trial isn’t fascinating or even necessary. It is fascinating to speculate on whether this is a too-risky challenge to Prop. 8 and if the U.S Supreme Court, where this will no doubt end up, is too conservative. It is fascinating that one of the lawyers defending gay marriage is a big-time conservative and to see whether or not the hearing can be aired on YouTube. It is fascinating to see all the expert testimony given for and against not only same-sex marriage but also homosexuality.
What I am saying is that is that it is most unfortunate, even tragic, this has to go on and that I hate it. I hate it that my life is on trial, literally, having to be justified. That’s all.
A few months ago, I was at a community meeting on what to do about Proposition 8. It was suggested that we go door to door and talk to people about gay marriage. I flinched. I am all for educating people - hence this blog and a lot of what else I do - but I’ll be damned if I’m going to go around begging people to tolerate me and my life.
As I told a friend afterwards, I feel like a football and don’t like it.
Another way that this is like a game and that I don’t like is that, as always in a game, someone will lose.
I feel like I’m "it" - tag, another game - with the trial regarding same-sex marriage now going on in San Francisco. Stemming from California’s Proposition 8, the non-jury hearing, which will reportedly go on for a few weeks, is to determine whether or not it is unconstitutional - whether or not it is illegal - for gays to wed. This essentially means that I am on trial.
I am not saying that the trial isn’t fascinating or even necessary. It is fascinating to speculate on whether this is a too-risky challenge to Prop. 8 and if the U.S Supreme Court, where this will no doubt end up, is too conservative. It is fascinating that one of the lawyers defending gay marriage is a big-time conservative and to see whether or not the hearing can be aired on YouTube. It is fascinating to see all the expert testimony given for and against not only same-sex marriage but also homosexuality.
What I am saying is that is that it is most unfortunate, even tragic, this has to go on and that I hate it. I hate it that my life is on trial, literally, having to be justified. That’s all.
A few months ago, I was at a community meeting on what to do about Proposition 8. It was suggested that we go door to door and talk to people about gay marriage. I flinched. I am all for educating people - hence this blog and a lot of what else I do - but I’ll be damned if I’m going to go around begging people to tolerate me and my life.
As I told a friend afterwards, I feel like a football and don’t like it.
Another way that this is like a game and that I don’t like is that, as always in a game, someone will lose.
Friday, January 1, 2010
A clear path in the new decade
Shortly before Christmas, I read an article about Caltrans, the California Department of Transportation, agreeing to settle a lawsuit by making the pedestrian passages along its roadways more accessible to the disabled. Not only was it a nice Christmas gift. It’s about time.
There was an article several years ago about a man who was involved in filing the lawsuit. He used a wheelchair and, I think, lived in Long Beach. He showed a reporter what it’s like to travel in a wheelchair along Pacific Coast Highway, a major thoroughfare with constant traffic. With some sections not having curb cuts and others having utility poles in the middle of the sidewalk, the reporter shared that it was a pretty harrowing experience.
Yikes! I remember thinking I know the feeling.
I remember it being pretty harrowing getting from the Santa Monica Pier to the boardwalk below in my wheelchair. (That is, before I found that there’s a ramp leading directly from the pier. Duh!) I had to cross a Highway 1 off-ramp, and the sidewalk was so high and narrow that I sighed with relief when I was able to get back into the street.
This doesn’t only happen in the big, bad city. I live off of a major road, which is called a highway, and I avoid riding along it in my chair. When I have to do so, I usually ride in the street. As unsafe as this may be, it feels safer than going on the sidewalk with all its cracks, utility poles, bumps, driveways, plants, etc.
So I say hooray to Caltrans for finally taking this on. The project will go on well into this new decade and will not only include improvements for those of us in chairs but also for the blind (audible crossing signals, etc.) and others.
Walking along a highway isn’t very attractive, not to mention safe, but sometimes it is by far the most convenient or the only route. A sidewalk that is really narrow or high or is blocked by trees and poles can very well be like having no sidewalk.
What were the designers thinking?
It is like the bathroom in the motel room that I stayed in a couple nights ago while I was on a holiday trip. It was pretty good, pretty accessible. Except for the mirror above the sink, which was way too high for me and anyone in a wheelchair to use.
Who designed this? Certainly not a disabled person.
There was an article several years ago about a man who was involved in filing the lawsuit. He used a wheelchair and, I think, lived in Long Beach. He showed a reporter what it’s like to travel in a wheelchair along Pacific Coast Highway, a major thoroughfare with constant traffic. With some sections not having curb cuts and others having utility poles in the middle of the sidewalk, the reporter shared that it was a pretty harrowing experience.
Yikes! I remember thinking I know the feeling.
I remember it being pretty harrowing getting from the Santa Monica Pier to the boardwalk below in my wheelchair. (That is, before I found that there’s a ramp leading directly from the pier. Duh!) I had to cross a Highway 1 off-ramp, and the sidewalk was so high and narrow that I sighed with relief when I was able to get back into the street.
This doesn’t only happen in the big, bad city. I live off of a major road, which is called a highway, and I avoid riding along it in my chair. When I have to do so, I usually ride in the street. As unsafe as this may be, it feels safer than going on the sidewalk with all its cracks, utility poles, bumps, driveways, plants, etc.
So I say hooray to Caltrans for finally taking this on. The project will go on well into this new decade and will not only include improvements for those of us in chairs but also for the blind (audible crossing signals, etc.) and others.
Walking along a highway isn’t very attractive, not to mention safe, but sometimes it is by far the most convenient or the only route. A sidewalk that is really narrow or high or is blocked by trees and poles can very well be like having no sidewalk.
What were the designers thinking?
It is like the bathroom in the motel room that I stayed in a couple nights ago while I was on a holiday trip. It was pretty good, pretty accessible. Except for the mirror above the sink, which was way too high for me and anyone in a wheelchair to use.
Who designed this? Certainly not a disabled person.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Season's spirit
I am posting my two most recent columns that came out in the Claremont Courier. They are about what I think the holiday season is - or should be - all about.
The first deals with an annual two-day festival, put on in mid-November by the residents of a community of retired Christian missionaries here in Claremont. I don’t think the second one needs explanation.
THESE PILGRIMS REMIND US OF OUR PROGRESS
The golden leaves all but glittered on the green grass. There was a brisk snap in the air. At long last.
Fall came, at long last, on that Friday last month - I had to put another blanket on my bed, finally, that night - appropriately enough, the first day of the Pilgrim Place Festival. It came only after it rained that morning, just after the festival opened with a brass band playing.
It wasn’t supposed to rain that day, one person after another said. I bought my annual persimmons and some other things - the festival is a cool place for Christmas shopping - as it began sprinkling, and the sprinkling just got heavier. I didn’t hear anyone talk of leaving of breaking down, but, when I went home with my rain cape on and with the rain falling harder, I wondered if the pilgrims would be washed out after all their preparations. Such a shame.
But, before long, it was sunny again. I decided to return in the afternoon. I had heard and read that the pageant was not only completely revamped and updated this year but also now included music by the Pilgrim Pickers. I wanted to see this, so I headed over, with the hope that the sun was out for a while, that the festival hadn’t been shut down and that the show would go on.
It turned out that the festival was very much still going on, with cars parked blocks away and with the booths bustling with business. Not only that, but, along with the leaves shining on the lawn and the crisp snap in the air (or at least suggested and coming that night), there was a large crowd eagerly awaiting the 1:45 performance.
It also turned out that the new pageant was every bit as sparkly as those brilliant leaves on the green. It had almost been rained out but instead, as if with the rain, went on reinvigorated, full of bright ideas and with a renewed, inspiring message.
I have to be honest and say that I hadn’t seen the pageant for years and years, perhaps since I was a child. Even then, it was a bit musty - a straight-ahead re-enactment of the first Thanksgiving, weighed down with stuffy "thees" and "thous" and perhaps more than its fair share of stereotypes. I remember feeling even then that there was something a bit or very wrong about the Indians - the Native Americans - being painted red and festooned with feathers.
It here been my sense that people have watched the pageant because it was tradition, if not duty. It was the thing to do at the Pilgrim Place Festival.
Not this year. And not only did these retired Christian missionaries rip a huge hole in the myth that senior citizens can’t change. They gave us something, in an enjoyable, entertaining way, to think about and even to challenge us.
In this pageant, the first Thanksgiving was just the beginning, only a starting point. Two pilgrims come onstage, ready for the usual tale, only to be confused by the presence of two modern-day narrators, a man and a woman, as well as the Pilgrim Pickers. To mollify the lost pilgrims, the narrators offer to tell them what has gone on in this country since the first Thanksgiving .
A remarkable thing about the ensuing hour-long journey, accompanied by the Pickers’ folk music and the audience singing along on many songs, was that it not only hit America’s high points - freedom, civil rights, etc. - but also its low points. It didn’t shy away from telling of the Native Americans having their lands taken and being put on reservations, of black people being enslaved and then discriminated against, of Japanese-Americans being interned during World War II, of Mexican and other immigrant laborers being exploited. At one point, the narrators wondered how to explain the atom bomb to the two pilgrims.
This all was certainly not meant to be depressing or to signal that the U.S has failed. Indeed, the point of the presentation was that this country has always striven to get better. This was a review - truly a pageant - of America’s on-going progress in trying to fulfill the original pilgrims’ vision of building the kingdom of God on Earth.
Yes, the kingdom of God. This was another remarkable thing about the play is that it didn’t shy away from talking about God. A lot. But this wasn’t the God that is heard of so much these days. This wasn’t an exclusionary, threatening, side-taking God.
This was welcoming, embracing God, open to all. So, while the performance sometimes sounded like something going on in a church, it did not seem strange that it was out in the open.
Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if there were people there who see this God as too accepting, too inclusive. I wondered what their God would do, what their Jesus would do. About women? I wondered. About gays? And what about the people who don’t have a God, who don’t believe in God?
What I heard being said in the performance, ultimately, was that all of these people were included in the original pilgrims’ vision. The blessed community is indeed open to all - people worshiping freely and in different ways or not at all - living together harmoniously.
Building and maintaining such a community is not easy and often requires much work. In illustrating this work, this striving, this progress, the new pageant showcased the work done by Pilgrim Place residents. One man spoke about working with Martin Luther King, Jr. A Japanese-American man talked about having to live in an internment camp. Another man spoke of his experience working with Ceasar Chavez. The pageant ended, appropriately enough, with pageantry, a parade of men and women living in Pilgrim Place who have done much in the effort to bring about that community.
In front of me where I sat was a group of boys and girls sitting on the lawn, holding their balloons, guarding their Glue-In creations, while they ate sandwiches brought from home and hamburgers and hot dogs purchased at the Festival. They eventually wandered off - the boys first, of course, followed by the girls - but before doing so, they were clearly drawn in by what was happening on the stage, singing along with the large audience.
On this beautiful day shared by all, saved by and saved from the refreshing rain, this was truly a pageant, reminding us of the goodwill and hope of the season.
STRAIGHT, AND NOT SO EASILY, FROM THE HEART
Puppies are easy. Prisoners? Not so much.
"Although the project...angers some, for the most part the community appears supportive."
Who can get angry about seeing puppies? Who can not be supportive of puppies? Who can resist puppies?
What can be wrong about a recent project at Chapman University , providing puppies for students to play with as they study for final exams? The puppies were brought to the Fullerton campus by the Active Minds Club, a studying organization promoting mental awareness, during "cram week." The event was called "Furry Friends for Finals."
"It has been proven that having a dog helps relieve stress, so we thought it would be a cute idea if we brought some furry friends on campus," said sophomore and integrated educational studies major Jennifer Heinz, who helped organize the event.
The puppies, provided by a Torrence-based company called Puppies & Reptiles for Parties, were positioned outside the university library for students to pet and play with during study breaks. As Ms. Heinz emphasized, "It’s a nice way to step back from reality and just be stress-free for a moment."
Besides, according to Megan Brown, a licensed marriage and family therapist who is the Active Minds Club’s advisor and a counselor for the school’s Student Psychological Counseling Services, many students miss the pets they leave behind at home.
Awwww! How cute! I thought about heading over to Fullerton for some cuddly puppy therapy. I can really use a break, studying or not. After all, it’s the holidays!
Or how about this being done at the colleges here? Like outside the friendly, remodeled Honold Library?
Certainly, no one can object to such a puppy project...?
No. The quote above about there being anger is not from the Los Angeles Times article about the Chapman University endeavor. It is from another recent Times feature about a help-giving undertaking in Claremont - the Prison Library Project.
Unlike the puppies at Chapman University, the Prison Library Project is not new. Since 1987, the project, which has been associated with the Claremont Forum and is currently located in the Packing House, has been sending out books to prisoners throughout the U.S and beyond. One new thing that I learned from the article was that Rick Moore, the Claremonter who runs the program, moved the program from Durham, N.C, having taken it over from Bo Lozoff and Ram Dass, famed for taking L.S.D trips with the likes of Ken Kesey and for writing books on eastern spirituality.
How the project works is well-known, at least in Claremont and, apparently, in prisons everywhere. Without any publicity other than word of mouth, the project receives letters from all over the country and a few from overseas requesting books and other reading materials.
More than 250,000 books have been sent out in the past two decades by the volunteer staff.
The shelves are kept full by community members dropping of books and publishers discarding old stock. Requests for dictionaries are the hardest to keep up with. Dictionaries? Yes, while novels are popular - men prefer westerns and anything by Louis L’Amour and Stephen King, and women favor romance novels - but most of what is sent out is educational, spiritual and self-help in nature. The Prison Library Project is really about helping their clients improve themselves.
As Tom Helliwell, a Claremont resident whose church donates money to the project, says, "It’s important for them to have access to tools to use their brains in a constructive way."
Sometimes, this involves tough love. Requests for true crime novels, anything by British crime novelist John Wainwaight and such works as John Grisham’s "The Chamber," set in the Mississippi State Penitentiary, are turned down. Other guidelines include no hardcovers (they can be fashioned into weapons), removing all handwriting left by previous readers and wrapping packages in plain brown paper. And inmates who sell the books or use them to curry favor are put on a do-not-send list.
Tough love, indeed. But what the Prison Library Project does is a wonderful example of the good will and hope that is both praised and yearned for during this holiday season celebrating the light and warmth found when it’s darkest and coldest. It reminds us that not even prisoners should be forgotten and forsaken.
This isn’t easy - in more ways than one. Yes, this isn’t easy, like Santa and puppies, but who can object? Apparently, even with the love being tough, people do. "Although the project’s correspondence with convicts angers some..."
Humbug!
Who, I wonder, are these angry people? Who are these people who would throw away the key and not give others any hope, any second chance to better themselves? Are they the same people who throw rocks at the gay church I recently visited?
I went to the Good Samaritan Church in Whittier a couple Sundays ago. This is part of the Metropolitan Community Church, a Christian church for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people. During the potluck after the service, I asked the pastor if the church had ever been vandalized. She explained that the stained windows had been broken and had been replaced with shatter-proof glass - the kind used on police cars. Also, the street-side sign had been "fortified, so that nothing can knock it down."
Talk about tough love!
Peace on earth and good will to all isn’t just cute, warm puppies. It is often, as at the Good Samaritan Church and at the Prison Library Project in the heart of Claremont, hard, necessary, lonely work.
The first deals with an annual two-day festival, put on in mid-November by the residents of a community of retired Christian missionaries here in Claremont. I don’t think the second one needs explanation.
THESE PILGRIMS REMIND US OF OUR PROGRESS
The golden leaves all but glittered on the green grass. There was a brisk snap in the air. At long last.
Fall came, at long last, on that Friday last month - I had to put another blanket on my bed, finally, that night - appropriately enough, the first day of the Pilgrim Place Festival. It came only after it rained that morning, just after the festival opened with a brass band playing.
It wasn’t supposed to rain that day, one person after another said. I bought my annual persimmons and some other things - the festival is a cool place for Christmas shopping - as it began sprinkling, and the sprinkling just got heavier. I didn’t hear anyone talk of leaving of breaking down, but, when I went home with my rain cape on and with the rain falling harder, I wondered if the pilgrims would be washed out after all their preparations. Such a shame.
But, before long, it was sunny again. I decided to return in the afternoon. I had heard and read that the pageant was not only completely revamped and updated this year but also now included music by the Pilgrim Pickers. I wanted to see this, so I headed over, with the hope that the sun was out for a while, that the festival hadn’t been shut down and that the show would go on.
It turned out that the festival was very much still going on, with cars parked blocks away and with the booths bustling with business. Not only that, but, along with the leaves shining on the lawn and the crisp snap in the air (or at least suggested and coming that night), there was a large crowd eagerly awaiting the 1:45 performance.
It also turned out that the new pageant was every bit as sparkly as those brilliant leaves on the green. It had almost been rained out but instead, as if with the rain, went on reinvigorated, full of bright ideas and with a renewed, inspiring message.
I have to be honest and say that I hadn’t seen the pageant for years and years, perhaps since I was a child. Even then, it was a bit musty - a straight-ahead re-enactment of the first Thanksgiving, weighed down with stuffy "thees" and "thous" and perhaps more than its fair share of stereotypes. I remember feeling even then that there was something a bit or very wrong about the Indians - the Native Americans - being painted red and festooned with feathers.
It here been my sense that people have watched the pageant because it was tradition, if not duty. It was the thing to do at the Pilgrim Place Festival.
Not this year. And not only did these retired Christian missionaries rip a huge hole in the myth that senior citizens can’t change. They gave us something, in an enjoyable, entertaining way, to think about and even to challenge us.
In this pageant, the first Thanksgiving was just the beginning, only a starting point. Two pilgrims come onstage, ready for the usual tale, only to be confused by the presence of two modern-day narrators, a man and a woman, as well as the Pilgrim Pickers. To mollify the lost pilgrims, the narrators offer to tell them what has gone on in this country since the first Thanksgiving .
A remarkable thing about the ensuing hour-long journey, accompanied by the Pickers’ folk music and the audience singing along on many songs, was that it not only hit America’s high points - freedom, civil rights, etc. - but also its low points. It didn’t shy away from telling of the Native Americans having their lands taken and being put on reservations, of black people being enslaved and then discriminated against, of Japanese-Americans being interned during World War II, of Mexican and other immigrant laborers being exploited. At one point, the narrators wondered how to explain the atom bomb to the two pilgrims.
This all was certainly not meant to be depressing or to signal that the U.S has failed. Indeed, the point of the presentation was that this country has always striven to get better. This was a review - truly a pageant - of America’s on-going progress in trying to fulfill the original pilgrims’ vision of building the kingdom of God on Earth.
Yes, the kingdom of God. This was another remarkable thing about the play is that it didn’t shy away from talking about God. A lot. But this wasn’t the God that is heard of so much these days. This wasn’t an exclusionary, threatening, side-taking God.
This was welcoming, embracing God, open to all. So, while the performance sometimes sounded like something going on in a church, it did not seem strange that it was out in the open.
Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if there were people there who see this God as too accepting, too inclusive. I wondered what their God would do, what their Jesus would do. About women? I wondered. About gays? And what about the people who don’t have a God, who don’t believe in God?
What I heard being said in the performance, ultimately, was that all of these people were included in the original pilgrims’ vision. The blessed community is indeed open to all - people worshiping freely and in different ways or not at all - living together harmoniously.
Building and maintaining such a community is not easy and often requires much work. In illustrating this work, this striving, this progress, the new pageant showcased the work done by Pilgrim Place residents. One man spoke about working with Martin Luther King, Jr. A Japanese-American man talked about having to live in an internment camp. Another man spoke of his experience working with Ceasar Chavez. The pageant ended, appropriately enough, with pageantry, a parade of men and women living in Pilgrim Place who have done much in the effort to bring about that community.
In front of me where I sat was a group of boys and girls sitting on the lawn, holding their balloons, guarding their Glue-In creations, while they ate sandwiches brought from home and hamburgers and hot dogs purchased at the Festival. They eventually wandered off - the boys first, of course, followed by the girls - but before doing so, they were clearly drawn in by what was happening on the stage, singing along with the large audience.
On this beautiful day shared by all, saved by and saved from the refreshing rain, this was truly a pageant, reminding us of the goodwill and hope of the season.
STRAIGHT, AND NOT SO EASILY, FROM THE HEART
Puppies are easy. Prisoners? Not so much.
"Although the project...angers some, for the most part the community appears supportive."
Who can get angry about seeing puppies? Who can not be supportive of puppies? Who can resist puppies?
What can be wrong about a recent project at Chapman University , providing puppies for students to play with as they study for final exams? The puppies were brought to the Fullerton campus by the Active Minds Club, a studying organization promoting mental awareness, during "cram week." The event was called "Furry Friends for Finals."
"It has been proven that having a dog helps relieve stress, so we thought it would be a cute idea if we brought some furry friends on campus," said sophomore and integrated educational studies major Jennifer Heinz, who helped organize the event.
The puppies, provided by a Torrence-based company called Puppies & Reptiles for Parties, were positioned outside the university library for students to pet and play with during study breaks. As Ms. Heinz emphasized, "It’s a nice way to step back from reality and just be stress-free for a moment."
Besides, according to Megan Brown, a licensed marriage and family therapist who is the Active Minds Club’s advisor and a counselor for the school’s Student Psychological Counseling Services, many students miss the pets they leave behind at home.
Awwww! How cute! I thought about heading over to Fullerton for some cuddly puppy therapy. I can really use a break, studying or not. After all, it’s the holidays!
Or how about this being done at the colleges here? Like outside the friendly, remodeled Honold Library?
Certainly, no one can object to such a puppy project...?
No. The quote above about there being anger is not from the Los Angeles Times article about the Chapman University endeavor. It is from another recent Times feature about a help-giving undertaking in Claremont - the Prison Library Project.
Unlike the puppies at Chapman University, the Prison Library Project is not new. Since 1987, the project, which has been associated with the Claremont Forum and is currently located in the Packing House, has been sending out books to prisoners throughout the U.S and beyond. One new thing that I learned from the article was that Rick Moore, the Claremonter who runs the program, moved the program from Durham, N.C, having taken it over from Bo Lozoff and Ram Dass, famed for taking L.S.D trips with the likes of Ken Kesey and for writing books on eastern spirituality.
How the project works is well-known, at least in Claremont and, apparently, in prisons everywhere. Without any publicity other than word of mouth, the project receives letters from all over the country and a few from overseas requesting books and other reading materials.
More than 250,000 books have been sent out in the past two decades by the volunteer staff.
The shelves are kept full by community members dropping of books and publishers discarding old stock. Requests for dictionaries are the hardest to keep up with. Dictionaries? Yes, while novels are popular - men prefer westerns and anything by Louis L’Amour and Stephen King, and women favor romance novels - but most of what is sent out is educational, spiritual and self-help in nature. The Prison Library Project is really about helping their clients improve themselves.
As Tom Helliwell, a Claremont resident whose church donates money to the project, says, "It’s important for them to have access to tools to use their brains in a constructive way."
Sometimes, this involves tough love. Requests for true crime novels, anything by British crime novelist John Wainwaight and such works as John Grisham’s "The Chamber," set in the Mississippi State Penitentiary, are turned down. Other guidelines include no hardcovers (they can be fashioned into weapons), removing all handwriting left by previous readers and wrapping packages in plain brown paper. And inmates who sell the books or use them to curry favor are put on a do-not-send list.
Tough love, indeed. But what the Prison Library Project does is a wonderful example of the good will and hope that is both praised and yearned for during this holiday season celebrating the light and warmth found when it’s darkest and coldest. It reminds us that not even prisoners should be forgotten and forsaken.
This isn’t easy - in more ways than one. Yes, this isn’t easy, like Santa and puppies, but who can object? Apparently, even with the love being tough, people do. "Although the project’s correspondence with convicts angers some..."
Humbug!
Who, I wonder, are these angry people? Who are these people who would throw away the key and not give others any hope, any second chance to better themselves? Are they the same people who throw rocks at the gay church I recently visited?
I went to the Good Samaritan Church in Whittier a couple Sundays ago. This is part of the Metropolitan Community Church, a Christian church for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people. During the potluck after the service, I asked the pastor if the church had ever been vandalized. She explained that the stained windows had been broken and had been replaced with shatter-proof glass - the kind used on police cars. Also, the street-side sign had been "fortified, so that nothing can knock it down."
Talk about tough love!
Peace on earth and good will to all isn’t just cute, warm puppies. It is often, as at the Good Samaritan Church and at the Prison Library Project in the heart of Claremont, hard, necessary, lonely work.
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