Nomad in Pants; alone, lost, and feeling awkward

Recently, I was talking with a friend who was asking how I pronounced something. She has been hanging out with some folks from Michigan. I told that while she may think my mid-western accent is still strong, it has had time to adapt. I have been back and forth between home and the east coast for nine years. It was one of those revelations that makes you reflect on your life, where it is and where it has been.

I am in a graduate program where I am at least four years older than the majority of my cohort. It makes me feel old sometimes. It makes me feel like I have seen many more snapshots of the world than they have. It makes me think about how nomadic I have been in the 9 years since I first left the shores of Lake Superior.

My friend and I also discussed fast-food employees that day. She was surprised to learn that my first job had been at Hardee's. She has been working retail all through college and graduate school, in addition to a research assistantship. But I am amused when people who meet me through professional settings are shocked to learn some of the jobs I had over the years. A person has to earn a living, you have to humble yourself to the mighty dollar. So inevitably you take jobs that sacrifice some dignity, that is, people will treat as though you are less than they are. There is a contempt and rudeness people show for fast-food employees and other minimum wage jobs that you don't get if you are percieved as being educated or on your way to middle class status. Even in my last retail job I was able to retain the feeling of being a person with dignity that I often did not get while I worked fast-food. Of course, my boss at the last job treated most of the customers with a bit of contempt to it was easier to realize I didn't need to take shit from people.

That was a bit of a side-bar to what I really started out to say. I recently was in a store where a song was playing it sounded sorta country, but I really don't pay much attention to popular music, so god knows what it was. But the jist of it was that you could always go home; there is always a place for you at home. How I wish that were true. After college I tried. I wanted to go home. I have family obligations that would be so much easier to keep an eye on if I were close by. Life didn't work out that way. I can't live in my hometown. It's leathal for me. I tried to move to a larger city in my home state, but that didn't work either. And now I am on the east coast too far away from my family. I am happy here; I think I could have a good life here.

I was listening to music while at work today (I have a professional type job these days, but sometimes you have to work on the weekend anyway) and I heard "Girl, from the North Country" by my main man Bob Dylan. And it was hard to realize that that won't be me. I always identified with it in a way, but I am not her. In this version of an odessy, I am a nomad in pants taking a road that I don't know where it will lead me. I am alone, lost, and feeling awkward.

Why Elizabeth Bathurst?

1) She wrote so well that there was speculation she was actually a man writing under a pseudonym. I aspire to write well enough to inspire gender confusion.

2) She was weak and sickly and didn't let that interfere with her ministry. I am sickly myself.

3) Despite all our self-congradulating talk about women's equality, there weren't/aren't that many female Quaker theologians. I'm a girl who thinks theology is important. Also, female role models.

4) Because I'm so not posting my real name on the internets.


Love,
Elizabeth Bathurst

I left my heart in Pistoia; the nunnery Part I

I have joked for years about how one of my callings on this earth is to found the first order of Quaker nuns. When I was younger and more bitter about my celibacy, I used to refer to it as the "nonery" and call us "nones." Because I am clever.

There are many reason's why I would consider starting a Quaker order of nuns, rather than just biting the bullet (for some militaristic imagery) and becoming a Catholic. First, converting is a pain. Second, I like being Quaker and while there are aspects of the Catholic church that I respect a great deal...there are other aspects that don't jive with my world-view. Thirdly, there is the whole debate (internal mostly) about marrying god and giving up worldly things, like sex.

See I have always prefered to qualify my celibacy by saying it is forced and not self-imposed. There is a little part of me that wonders if there are people placed on this earth who are not ment for carnal love affairs but are here to give themselves (w)hol(el)y to the divine to serve as vesels and instruments of god's love. But then there is a part of me who truly does not believe that god would ask us to give up sex. It is something that can be a religious exerience that is shared with another; it isn't meant to be frivolious or cheep or impersonal, it is meant to be mystical.

So what would my Quaker order of nuns be like? Is is realistic or just my bitterness at a life of celibacy? I know I am cappable of living an intentional and devoted life. But am I capable of living that life and knowing passion with another?

True God from true God

Due to family obligations, I recently found myself in a Catholic church for mass on a Saturday afternoon. Amid the mental gymnastics of trying to remember what to do and say when and deciding how to balance being respectful without being hypocritical, I found myself touched by the celebration of the Pentecost.
The Pentecost story is from chapter 2 of Acts, where the Holy Spirit descends on the Apostles and a bunch of other people in a gust of wind. Then there are flames that look like tongues on people's foreheads and whenever someone talks, everyone else hears it in their own language. Kind of like a backwards Tower of Babel.
I grew up aware of Pentecostal churches. I knew that the speaking in tongues, which is mocked in some circles as being among the more ridiculous of christian practices, was based on a bible story and that it was supposed to be a manifestation of the Holy Spirit. It's a denomination that always struck me as theoretically experiential.
In theory, the catholic church is the same way. The bread and wine aren't symbolic of blood and flesh, they are actually transubstantiated into the body and blood of Christ. I know very few Catholics who actually believe this, but that's beside the point.
I'm not convinced that everyone who speaks in tongues is actually being moved by the Spirit to do so every time any more than I believe that transubstantiation happens during every mass. I'm not about to say it never happens. I'm definitely not going to say it can't. I believe that the Holy Spirit is capable of creating events which appear irrational or impossible.  
The priest had some lovely things to say during his homily about experiencing the Holy Spirit. He then clarified that we all knew what he was talking about because we'd all been baptised, confirmed and taken communion in the Church. Well, not quite.
Maybe the only reason I have experienced the Holy Spirit is that I was baptised with water as a baby and fed some leftover Host as a toddler. But I happen to believe that the movings of the Holy Spirit in me and my life have more to do with His plans than anything that my mother and/or a couple of priests did before I was old enough to remember or understand. Whatever the reason, whatever the means, I am grateful for the presence of the Spirit in my life and for reflections of my experience in the experiences of others.

Love,
Elizabeth Bathurst

Where I have been...ruminations on the tower of Babel

I could start this by being all self-pitying and self-centered and say that my recent travels have been a metaphor for my life--lost and alone. But then someone would say "yea, whatever, she is in Tuscany. I do not feel bad for her."

Italian is a language many people say they want to learn but it seems that few follow up on this. I wonder why? It is a beautiful language made to express strong emotions. I think that there are important lessons to be learned from the Italian way of life. They are not one of the economic powerhouses of Europe and part of that is because they still cling to the way life has been for centuries. This is evident in the beauty and sofistication of the crumbling villas; the way the sun refects off the young buds that will become olives; the roosters crowing all day long; the dogs that run free; the the italians arguing politics over a shot of expresso. In some ways I truly appreciate the way life has been preserved here, the way the olive trees and grape vines are the backbone of life. I am even more appreciative of this after my trips to Florence and Siena where I see Americans being ugly, rufusing to attempt to learn even the simplest Italian phrases or refusing to accept cultural differences. It pains me to make my colleagues and co-workers talk in English; I can understand a lot of Italian if it is slow but my ability to talk is almost non-existent. I feel the pain of coming from a country so proud it trandscends arrogance to something above and beyond expression.

The kindness that has been shown to me is amazing. I wish that somehow Italians could export that mind-set and way of living life to American we would be better for it. I feel a bit like Scarlett O"hara, "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." Or however that quote is supposed to go.

Ciao!

The everyday is sacred

I was listening to "Holy Now" by Peter Mayer recently when I ought to have been in meeting. I was indulging in a little house-to-myself time instead.

"Wine into water is not so small,
but an even better magic trick
is that anything is here at all.
So, the challenging thing becomes
not to look for miracles,
but finding where there isn't one.

When holy water was rare at best
I barely wet my finger tips.
Now I have to hold my breath
like I'm swimming in a sea of it.

It used to be a world half-there
heaven's second rate hand-me-downs
but I'm walking with a reverent air
cause everything's holy now. "

I wasn't at meeting last week either. Last week I had worship at the home of a friend after a lovely breakfast. Part of the reason that early Friends adopted the phrase "meeting house" for the buildings they built for communal worship was that they regarded the people as the church.
The monthly meetings I have access to rarely meet my spiritual needs and I am grateful that He hasn't asked me to commit to any of them. I still go to meeting frequently, but certainly not every week. I do try to be aware of my place in the Church on a daily basis. Am I being attentive to the needs of the people around me? Am I encouraging their growth in grace as well as my own?
Sometimes, even when I'm feeling the need to take care of myself and I know that attending meeting isn't absolutely nessecary, I can still feel guilty about skipping meeting. It's good to be reminded of all of Creation is holy and that the First Communion was Jesus sharing a meal with His friends.

Love,
Elizabeth Bathurst

The next movie I watch about a plane will be S.O.A.P.

I saw United 93 over the weekend. Most of the discussion I've heard about the movie was whether or not it was too soon to revisit 9/11. Without question, it is still too soon to be entertained by the 9/11 story. But this movie isn't entertaining. It felt like a horrible and realistic reenactment and it helped me grieve. It helped me take back the memory of United 93 from the warmongering that embraced the phrase "Let's Roll." I was able to reclaim the memory of the awfulness of that day and the sympathy I felt for the people who were faced with making unthinkable moral decisions based on very limited information under a very tight deadline.

After the movie, I was discussing the it with friends, some of whom had just watched the movie with me, and some who had not. Someone asked a non-American in the group about his responses to 9/11. He likened his response with his response the Kashmir earthquake in 2005. It's true that the Kashmir earthquake killed a great many more people, but for me the difference is vast. A natural disaster has yet to make me contemplate pacifism, universalism or the nature of justice. I'm able to simply grieve for the victims of natural disasters. I cry, I pray, and I send money when I can. Suffering that is related to "Acts of God," however influenced by human incompetence or wit, is easier for me to comprehend than acts of extreme violence.

The magnitude of 9/11 for me wasn't the destruction of buildings, or an alteration in my feeling safe as an American. It wasn't even the horrific deaths although some images from the towers still haunt me. It was knowing that these acts of desperation and hatred would be met with large scale revenge. By some estimates, the wars waged in response to that Tuesday morning's hijacked planes have killed almost 250,000 people to date. 9/11 was a horrible tragedy in and of itself, but it was only the beginning of a very dark time.

Today, we are living in a world where too many decisions are being made in fear, in hate, in confusion and in revenge. I feel as though all I have to fight against the wars being carried out in my name is my voice and that my voice is drowned out by so many other voices. I don't think anyone is actually listening, anyway. I feel so helpless and so scared.

Towards the end of the film, there's a period of time where everyone is praying. The prayers of the hijackers, the passengers and the flight attendants are all overlapping in the chaos. Surely God is able to hear each of us, distinctly, as we cry out to Him in our time of need, no matter what language we speak or how many of His children are crying to Him at once.

Love,
Elizabeth Bathurst

You get so Alone it all just makes Sense

Sometimes that which provides you with the most solace is not the Spirit nor a friend, but something dear and comforting...like a new book of poems by Charles Bukowski.

In my current life, I am loosely affiliated with academics. Thus, I am a bit stressed out as "it is that time of year." To procrastinate last night, (my hott Saturday night consisted of writing a paper on Cerebrovascular events aka stroke) I went to a book store to see if I could find any books in italian...I am leaving in less that two weeks for Italia and am trying to learn Itanian in-between all of my other committments. There were no books in Italian and somehow I found myself in the Poetry section.

Hank and I have been acquainted for at least 8 years now. He and his crusty take on life have seen me through many difficulities. People are always surprised that such an aredent feminist could love Hank. But I do. Years ago for an English class a friend and I had to give a presentation on Hank. I think the whole class was expecting the typical feminist tirade about him being such a misogynist, but then we got up and praise him. Mouths hit the floor. There is a quote I really want to track down someday that has to do with being a "critical lover" and that is what I am. And I think that is what Hank is.

Yea, he's a bastard. He's crusty and angry and misanthropic, but then you get to lines, which usually occur at the end of a poem, and blow away by the beauty. There is no way he can be all bad. I tend to think that all the crusty misanthropic talk is just to cover up a bare and wounded soul, the type of soul that those of us who care to much have...it is battered and angry and since we feel powerless against the shit that fate has thrown us and those around us, we engage in self destructive behaviors, drinking, smoking, meaningless sex. And that is why sometimes the only comfort a soul can find is in a glass of whiskey and Charles Bukowski.

...I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom.

....I would have probably been unfair to you or you
to me. it was best like this.

Charles Bukowski, an almost made up poem

Convincement

My yearly meeting reads our Advices aloud at close of sessions following meeting for worship on First Day. When I reread the Advices to myself, I often hear my father's inflection on certain words, like "worship" and "banal" as he has read them aloud in recent years. It's a very comforting piece of prose, even this part:

"For although we recognize the children of our members as objects of our care, and partakers of the outward privileges of Christian fellowship, we would earnestly remind all that such recognition cannot constitute them members of the Lord's Spiritual Israel. Nothing can effect this but the power of the Holy Spirit working repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, let the words of our Holy Redeemer have due place with us all, "Ye must be born again." May all of our members become such on the ground of true conversion, and be prepared in their several places to bring forth fruit unto God."

For years, I glossed over the importance of all that "Holy Redeemer" and "born again" stuff. It just wasn't relevant to my life or my experience. That language was used by hypocritical, judgemental people who were far more concerned with getting into Heaven than making God happy. The important part of that passage to me, for many years was the idea that one had to have a real relationship with God in order to be a member of the meeting. You couldn't just go through the motions or grow up in the meeting.

I joined the meeting I grew up in a long time ago. It wasn't some sort of life-changing experience, I was just ready to join in the spiritual life of the meeting. I served on committees and attended business meeting. I began to speak in meeting, albeit reluctantly.

I related to the conversion stories in the journals of early Friends. I heard the voice of the Lord audibly from an early age, so early that it didn't occur to me that this wasn't a perfectly normal experience until I was in my late teens. I saw things. I felt things. But I didn't have a deer-in-the-headlights moment of conversion myself. I understood continuing revelation as a slow life-long process.

Fast forward to another First Day worship at close of sessions almost two years ago. I was freaking out. I knew that way was opening for me to move to Boston and I knew that a large part of my motivation for leaving North Carolina was to get away from the evidence of my mistakes. I was deeply fearful that I'd failed in His plan for me so utterly, He'd just given up on me. And for the first time, I let go of the anger. I'd always blamed God when I failed. If He'd given me just a little more guidance or asked something a little more realistic I would've been able to pull it off. There I was, wallowing in my newfound awareness of my sins and as soon as I had listed everything I could think of that I wished I had done differently, every aspect of myself that falls short of perfection and apologized for it all, I felt His hand on my forehead as I heard His voice say: "You are forgiven".

I've been a different person since then. Sometimes it's more obvious to me than other times. I've been handling the difficult things in my life a lot better. I spend less time berating God and I'm far less reluctant to speak the messages I'm given in worship. I'm just generally calmer. I can't go so far as to say I've found anything that resembles Joy, but I have I been born again of the incorruptible seed. And it has made me a better person.

I'm writing all this not to try to convince anyone to say some magic words like "I accept Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior." Those stories are a dime a dozen and never spoke to me. I believe that we each have our own path to travel and so long as we are faithful to our Guide, we'll get where we need to be. I can't give any sort of advice on how to be obedient. All I'm saying is that this is what happened to me and I'm not being allowed to hide it anymore, apparently.

"Since you have purified your souls in obeying the truth through the Spirit in sincere love of the brethren, love one another fervently with a pure heart, having been born again, not of corruptible seed but incorruptible, through the word of God which lives and abides forever." 1 Peter 1:22-23

I still believe that continuing revelation is a slow life-long process. I don't have all the answers and I never will, but each day is an opportunity to learn just a little more and grow just a little closer to Christ.

Love,
Elizabeth Bathurst

Where do all the young Quakers go?

So come and gather around me my contemporary peers
And I'll tell you all the story of
Jesus...The Missing Years

--John Prine, Jesus, the Missing Years

It seems that many young Friends drift away during their 20's. Some come back. Some do not. For a religion that is slowly dwindling away one might think that this would be more of a concern to Friends. It is true that Meetings will embrace the young people that stay faithful, and are more than happy to welcome back lost lambs who show up when they are ready to settle down into partnerships and raise children.

But for us, single, childless young Quakers, who occassionally turn up at meeting we get a hello and asked where we are from and if we are new to Friends, but often once it is found out that we are not new to Friends we are rather less interesting. However, if we come several times a month for a few months we become worth investigating. Especially, if we might be open to lending our youthful energy to committees and such.

Now it is true that I have not been to meeting regularly for over a year. However, in the last place I lived, I began going regularly for a time...When I moved home after college I also tried to attend meeting with some regularity...However, I just have not been able to stick with it. It is not a case of needing to seek out that which can speak to my soul, I know I have already found my spiritual home. However, my comfortability with my spiritual home does not extend beyound worship. Now community and the corporate experience of worship are important to me as they are to the larger body of Quakerism. Yet I have not felt comfortable and accepted amoung Friends after meeting has risen. This speaks perhaps of my own discomfort in groups and other issues I have with Friends...but what is interesting to me is that many of the birthright Young Adult Friends and Friends who have attended since before they can remember, do not attend regularly either.

Out of the 15 or so young adult Friends (that come easily to mind, who are between the ages of 25 and 33) who fit into this catagory, only two attend meeting regularly. These are not people who have dabbled in Quakerism. They are all members of meetings somewhere, were raised Quaker, and many of whom were in a Quaker scholarship program in college. I believe all of the individuals I am thinking of still consider themselves Quaker, and are not seeking other spiritual homes. Yet we do not attend meeting. One would think these are the type of young people we would want to encourage to remain connected to Quakerism. However, many I have talked with have had experiences with meetings similar to mine, when they have attempted to return--because they have longings to return--have felt isolated, underwelcome, and alone. Some come to meeting and cry because we are so lost. Some of us come and feel we have nothing in common but worhsip, some of us want to go but will never make the effort.

Now we could look at these as the "lost years" similar to the time in the Bible where Jesus disappears around 12 and re-appears at 30-ish. Or it could just be that all young people go through a period of being in the desert...being tempted by Satan, but that is only supposed to be 40 days, right?...or perhaps we are to wander like god's chosen people for 40 years...but I don't think have seen any manna, much less had the joy of eating it. But why are there "lost years?" Do we just need time to be of the world for a time, to be better grounded in our faith later? Is it some type of spiritual test? Or is there something lacking in Quakerism that we keep stepping over like a dead dog in the center of the Meeting room floor?

Things you save for rainy days...

First, I would like to start by saying...that despite all attempts to hide it...I am a sentimentalist. Secondly, because of this I spend most of my time being bitter and angry. Now I will do something I regret because all of you will somehow want to remind me of this when I become angry again. Just remember I repress, repress, repress--ACT OUT!

Today I was thinking about the lovely weather we are having right now. I know its dry, but it is so sunny and warm...it hasn't gotten terribly humid yet, its quite lovely. And I was thinking about how glad I am to be alive. And what a wonderful world we live in that there are not one but two young men who make me smile to myself these days. And I feel silly about it, but its nice. Now I can understand why people become serial monogamists, its nice to feel the excitement of it. The flirtation, the unanticipated and endearing personality quirks. But then I wonder where are these things going...one lives so far away, but he is nerd-licious and geek-tastic all rolled into one mild mannered exterior, with a raging sense of humor underneath. He is so damn sexy. The other I see almost everyday...he looks at me like I am gorgeous. He makes me feel desirable...and he makes me laugh...but how do I know which is the path? Or perhaps its just safer to end the possibilities before they begin...Or do I just enjoy the secret smiles to myself as I walk into a beautiful day thinking of the vast possibility of things.

Blessed Community

I haven't had the energy to write much of anything lately. I was blindsided by the suicide of a friend and mentor about a week ago. In my grief, I've been thinking about community. While I've been surrounded by love since I got the news, I'm reminded that she didn't have that kind of supportive local community.

From holding me while I sobbed, to making sure my cats and I have been fed regularly, to helping me do my laundry, to "thinking of you" text messages and letting me bail on scheduled activities, my friends have really come through for me in my time of need. I have been overwhelmed with community and I am so, so grateful.

I had been singing "Here I am, Lord" a lot lately. The chorus goes something like this:

Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord?
I have heard you calling in the night.
I will go, Lord, if you lead me.
I will hold your people in my heart.

When I realize how obedient I've been, how open I've been to my leadings, I'm able to absolve myself of most the guilt. I know that there was nothing else I could have done to help my friend. While I've been grieving the loss of such an important person in my life, both professional and personal, I've been comforted by the last line of the chorus. His people have been holding me in their hearts this week. His people: the athiest Jews, lapsed Catholics, Quakers both "good" and "bad," and beef-eating Hindus.

I used to long for a community of faith. For a local, thriving meeting to accept me and my faith without reservation. The kind of Blessed Community that Thomas Kelly talks about in his Testament of Devotion. I may not have found my community of faith yet, but I do have a community of love. And today, that feels like more than enough.

Love,
Elizabeth Bathurst

All change is stressful.

A dear friend of mine and neighbor is moving to San Fransisco rather unexpectedly. Her husband has been offered a job that couldn't sensibly be refused. I'm heartbroken to lose such a supportive, darling, sweet friend. Okay, I know I'm not really "losing" her. I'm just losing proximity. I know that I can maintain deep friendships over long distances. As I adjust to the idea of cross-country flights and handwritten letters instead of back porch conversations held over our adjacent yards, the phrase "the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away" keeps coming to mind. So, I finally looked it up.

"Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD." Job 1:21

I'd been repeating it, almost mantra-like, in an attempt to accept the change. I've been doing pretty good lately with not being angry with God when the unfortunate/unpleasant happens. But to go so far as to give Him praise when I'm feeling uprooted and/or abandoned? I can only go so far as to be grateful for that which I have and I am so grateful for the gift of her friendship.

But then again, there are scholars who say the Book of Job is a contemporaneous satire, not a scriptural document. Which means I can be as pouty as I want about people taking stupid jobs in stupid California, right? Not so much. Just because I can convince myself that this particular book is less authentic than the rest doesn't mean a whole lot. Especially when I can't get a verse of it out of my head. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

Love,
Elizabeth Bathurst

"Good" Quaker I am not

I have already discussed my lack of community as a child. This was particulary so as far as a spiritual community. My grandparents, whom I am still very close to, taught me through example, not by dictating to me. My grandmother has always been recognized in many circles, from Quakers, to social justice movements, to library affairs, to gardening as actively living out her beliefs. My grandfather is often overlooked as the "husband" of this amazing woman. He is dismissed because he often makes puns and off-color jokes, and likes to flirt with the younger women (and when you are in your 80's that is just about everyone) and makes jokes about how he's old, slow, and has no memory(he's been doing this for as long as I have known him...its an act). But it is my grandfather who quietly "lets his life speak" and who I would like to humbley emmulate. He makes off-color jokes about things he cares about, he is the dirty old man that was a feminist long before most men would admit to such at thing (and how many do now a days that aren't just trying to get laid?). He is kind, treats everyone with respect and dignity. He truly cares about the state of things. And well, he loves chocolate too.

When I first went to college, I wanted community. I was accepted to a scholarship program for Quakers...I wanted a spiritual community and a social community. I found it. I have deeply tied friendships from that time that seem to easily pick-up regardless of how long it has been since we last spoke, this is true of my capital F-friends and small f-friends. But I also saw hypocrisy in action too. But we can save that rant for another day.

I think that many of my elders see me as somewhat of a "bad" quaker if there is such a thing. Not because I don't follow my leadings or that I have somehow decided to dedicate my life to the pursuit of something that harms the greater whole, but because I have too many "swords" yet to lay down. I am an alcohol drinking, cigarette smoking, explicative stringing, caffine-addicted, tattooed child. Oh, and its been like a year since I went to meeting. So I don't do corporate worship, I have worship with god and my bed on sunday mornings, but I know god is always with me. You may not be able to count on me to go to meeting and be a "good" quaker, but you can count on me to speak the lord's truth (when I let in the spirit).

So is being a good Quaker about laying down your "swords" and giving yourself to the divine or is it about "letting your life speak," even if that life is speaking/drinking/smoking like a sailor on shore leave...I truly believe life is about your daily interactions with others, the evironment, and all living creatures. Its not about going to meeting every week (though that is important, to keep your self centered to do good Works), its not about reading religous texts, its not about airing your Quaker resume, or your "this is why I am cool (also insert, indie rock, emo, anarchist, peacenik, or hardcore awesome in anyway) resume," its about treating all with dignity and respect.

So if you want I can give you my resume of coolness, or you can keep reading and make up your own minds...too see if I am a "good" or "bad" quaker. But don't hold your breath for me to go to meeting or finish reading the bible, or even lay down some "swords" anytime soon. Because I am bad ass. That isn't true... corporate worship and I have some beef. And last time I tried to go to meeting god did that thing where you get tested and have some Job-like experience, and well, I am no Job. Dude, I perfer to hide from my emotions, I am a mid-westerner afterall. And I just can't be that open right now. It scares me. Maybe this blog will help, I hope.

There are better Google Maps hacks - Update.

This morning as I was getting ready for work, I was listening to NPR (like a good Quaker). The first story I heard was about the death of the suspected murdered of two registered sex offenders from Maine. This Boston Globe story gives a little more information about the victims. Three men's lives have been cut short in what appears to be an attempt at vigilante justice and I am holding them, their victims, and all the families in the Light this morning.

In retrospect, I realize that I ought to have supplied some links to better Google Maps hacks/mash-ups. Knock yourself out:

This maps Craigslist's housing listings.
This maps the NYC subway system.
This is a geography game.
This maps stay-at-home-dad playgroups.
This one tries to locate cheap gas.
But really, this one is my favorite. It plots UFO sightings.

Love,
Elizabeth Bathurst

Why James Naylor?

You may wonder why of all the quakers in history I would choose James Naylor as my pen name. Is it becuase I suffer from gender confusion? Or am I a bit "touched" as the southerners say... Why would you pick him when quakers from early on were "egalitarian" letting women preach...there must be just as rousing early female quakers to pick..?

These are all logical questions, however, I picked Naylor because there is just something about him. Perhaps it has something to do with my first introduction to Naylor in a class on Quakerism at a certain small liberal arts college in North Carolina, I was convinced after reading about the infamous ride into Bristol that not only his adoring followers but that he himself was naked while riding the donkey. The professor never attempted to correct this notion and in fact, sorta lead us on in this delusion. It was not uncommon for early quakers to go naked as a symbol of their nakedness/innocence before god (the next time you consider plain dress remember nudity is an option). So it was not out of the question for him to have been naked, however, mislead I was. At any rate my interest in Naylor goes beyond the nakedness.

I believe that Naylor was a threat to Fox and his vision of Quakerism. Naylor's popularity and charisma where threatening. Really all Fox had was his bible and the visions from Pendle hill (were they induced out of fasting or from wild mushrooms we will never know). Fox did not have the pentchant for street theatre and gorilla art like Naylor did. Despite the "Woe unto the bloody city of Litchfield" incident, but the truth be told Naylor out did Fox when it came to spirit-led street theatre and generally make a public scene. Thus all Fox could do was chastise Naylor in the hopes of keeping a tight reign on early Friends. However, Naylor was just following the Spirit. We have all felt the call, which makes us wonder what kind of trickster god must be. However, there is a need and place for humor in our spirituality.

We must remember that sometimes we will be asked to do something that is threatening to the status quo. Something that could earn us the chastisement and criticism of our elders, but sometimes things just need to be challenged. And if a little humor can be added into this questioning of authority all the better.

The lower God doth bring me, and the nearer to himself, the more doth this Love and Tenderness spring and spread towards the poor, simple and despised ones, who are poor in spirit, meek and lowly Suffering Lambs, and with those I choose to suffer, and do suffer, wherever they are found. James Naylor (the original)

There are better Google Maps hacks.

Someone sent me a link to a sex offender registry in a mass email recently. The registry maps your address and shows you the location of your local sex offenders' homes and workplaces. If you click on one of those links, it shows you a name, photo and vague category of crime. Suddenly people I barely know are hitting "reply all" to discuss who lives near them. I was a little surprised by how upset this made me, even before someone started making jokes.

First and foremost, I have very little faith in our criminal justice system. Just because someone was convicted of something doesn't mean they actually did it. Just because someone hasn't been convicted of something doesn't mean they haven't done anything wrong. Don't forget that sexual assaults are notoriously under-reported.

Secondly, sex offender registries frighten people, but do they really help people identify others as potential threats? The majority of sexual assault victims already know their attackers, often intimately. Doing a background check on someone you know is far more likely to produce useful information than looking at a map of your neighborhood.

Also, if we take a prison term to have some sort of meaning, then once someone is released, shouldn't they be able to move on with their lives and be able to retain some rights? Like not having their photographs, names, home and/or work addresses posted on the Internet putting them at risk for vigilante justice?

Lastly, and probably most importantly, sex offender registries are anathema to the idea of rehabilitation. Our justice system is already overly dominated by ideas of retribution and punishment which, in my mind, correlates strongly with the absurdly high rates of recidivism.

I'd like to see a world without violence, sexual or otherwise, but sex offender registries aren't helping to build that world.

Love,
Elizabeth Bathurst

P.S. Don't make jokes about sex abuse, especially to strangers. Chances are pretty high you're talking to a survivor.

luminous life

I am one of those "odd" Quakers...those of you familar to friends say, "yea, well, who isn't." But I was raised by a lapsed Catholic father and a Quaker mother, neither emphasized prayer. It was something I found on my own. We lived somewhere so remote when I was a child that my mother, grandparents, and I were the only Quakers for close to 2oo miles. I am a birthright friend that never attended a Quaker meeting till I was 12 years old. I learned from my family the meaning of "letting your life speak."

As a child I was curious about religion and prayer. It was something that I knew other people did. My Catholic grandparents were always trying to take me to mass. But I didn't really understand what prayer was. I remember one winter my parents were reading the Little House on the Prairie books to me. I remember Laura Ingells Wilder recounting the importance of prayer in their family and how Pa would make them say their prayers before bed. I decided that that must be something everyone did -- pray before bed. I began to pray secretly after my parents put me to bed. I didn't kneel down to pray, I just lay in bed and spoke to god. I didn't know how other people prayed, but I figured if I talked to god he should be able to hear me -- otherwise he couldn't be very powerful. I would pray for all sorts of things, peace on earth, to end poverty, to end starvation, to save the whales...you think an 8 year old wouldn't do that but I did. I prayed for my family too. I prayed that my parents would stop fighting, drink less, and spend more time with me. I prayed that I wouldn't be fat anymore and that other kids would stop picking on me. I prayed for many other things too, I am sure.

This nightly prayer was something I kept up for many years. It got to a point where I couldn't fall asleep unless I prayed or had my daily conversation with god. However, sometime in the last 5 years, I quit praying every night. I think it was my constant drinking and depression. When you pass out everynight there is little time to remember god, in all that you are drinking to forget. But in the last year I have decided I needed to change things in my life. And while I still often fall asleep without talking to god, I try most mornings to thank god for my blessings. This is especially true on days I really don't want to get out of bed. Its a positive reinforcement for the day. "Thank you god for giving me this day. Thank you for my friends, new and old, near and far and all so dear. Thank you for my family. Please hold them in the light and bless them. Bless my extended family as well. Thank you for letting me back in school. Thank your for my medications, because I can find joy a little easier now. Thank you for all the blessings you have given me. Help me to be your vessel. Help me to do your work here on Earth. Help me be a better person. Thank you for giving me this day."

Like springtime on a plate.

Through a series of coincidences last night, I ended up at a Seder table, surrounded by amazing women (and one perfectly lovely infant). We progressed without a haggadah, each woman offering up the sections that were meaningful to her. We reconstructed the Exodus story from our collective memory. We offered up thanksgivings for marriages, for babies, for family and friends, and for growth. We discussed the role of privilege in our lives and the transitions we are experiencing. It was a beautiful experience, informal and loving.

Today being Good Friday, I am reminded of the Catholic tradition of Stations of the Cross. In years past I've wandered through a nearly empty church with the prayers written on a card and I've participated in a large outdoor procession, but this year I'll be doing the meditations on my own. It's really the only Easter tradition I like. Okay, I like jelly beans and Cadbury Creme Eggs and dying Easter eggs. But they haven't got any religious significance. Kind of like Halloween.

I'm reminded of the Quaker phrase "the day the world calls Christmas". While I agree that there is nothing particularly holy about the days the world calls Christmas or Easter, I think declaring days to celebrate certain aspects of faith with friends and family is important. Passover wouldn't be as meaningful to me if it happened every month. But I do agree that since the days we set aside to commemorate the birth, death and resurrection of Christ have become about chocolate bunnies, elves and presents, we've got a problem.

I'm not about to appropriate Passover, although I never did understand why Christians don't celebrate Jewish Holidays. I mean, Christianity is just modified Judaism, right? We just tacked Jesus onto an existing belief structure. I'm more comfortable assimilating Catholic rituals into my spiritual practice, since I was raised by lapsed Catholics, but I am still left to wonder what sort of rituals I can create to fill my need for regular meaningful religious celebrations in my life.

Love,
Elizabeth Bathurst

Sola Scriptura

I re-read "Women's Speaking Justified" over the weekend. My copy is extensively highlighted because it's my absolute favorite Quaker tract. You can read it online here. I love the way that Margaret Fell argues her way through the Bible accusing whoever dares to disagree with her as speaking for the devil without dismissing even a verse of the text.

I don't believe that the Bible is the Word of God, because of that stuff from John about the Word being around since the beginning. I don't regard the Book as essentially Holy, even. It records Holy things in translation many times over. I believe in continuing Revelation. I believe that what the Lord says today takes presedence over Scripture, because if any sort of discrepancy emerges, it is due to human errors of interpretation. I'm not entirely sold on the idea that God is immutable, but we'll see how that goes.

Don't get me wrong, the Bible is a very important part of my spiritual life. I don't read it as often as I feel I ought. I rarely know where to find the phrases and stories I want to find again, and I've got very few verses memorized. But I find it deeply comforting to return to the places I find most familiar.

Margaret Fell brings up some of my most favorite bits of scripture. The parts about how human distinctions between types of people are irrelevant in Christ are very special to me. As a teenager, I had that quote from Galatians about "neither male nor female" on my wall. And that was before I was comfortable with the C-word. (Get your mind out of the gutter. It's Christ). As a child, I payed far more attention to Bible stories with women in them. And Joel 2:21-28 has brought me comfort many times over, especially "and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions." Somehow, it makes me feel a little less alone.

But re-reading Margaret Fell makes it clear that I need to spend a little more time with Revelations. While I love the vivid imagery, I just don't get it. Maybe someday, I'll get comfortable with Revelations:

"So he carried me away in the spirit into the wilderness: and I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet coloured beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns. And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet color, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication: And upon her forehead was a name written, MYSTERY, BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH." [Rev. 17:3-5]

Maybe not.

Love,
Elizabeth Bathurst