Important Disclaimer

Since I currently have several employers/supervisors/churches/etc., please know that none of the words on my blog represent them or their beliefs. This blog is my own creation.

It also does not represent my children's perspective, nor my mother's; they think I am funny, but misguided.
(Quick update: only my mother thinks I'm funny now.)

Sunday, May 13, 2018

D̶i̶s̶a̶g̶g̶r̶e̶g̶a̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ Motherhood

Today was the usual shitshow of Mother's Day posts, pronouncements, proclamations, declarations, poems, pictures and prayers on social media. In all of the churches I serve handed out flowers to "mothers" and there was the usual confusion for the children as to who qualified as a mother, augmented by the fact that many of us are confused as to whether we qualify as a mother, or want to.

I had my usual discomfort at preaching on Mother's Day, knowing that I would cause pain, regardless of the tone or content of my sermon. I'd almost rather try to remove the U.S. flag from the sanctuary. Almost. White Motherhood and White Nationalism are tightly connected and well entrenched. I know several beautifully intentioned pastors who have died on those hills.

So no transcript, but if you want the audio, click here.

And posts from over the years where I've talked about motherhood in various ways below. There's no fixity to motherhood, simply snapshots of moments in time where I've found meaning. Motherhood shifts constantly from temporary and questionable physical reality to incomplete and problematic metaphor to false and narrow construct to amorphous and unfixable identity.

It is almost meaningless until I am pulled up short by two nearly grown offspring, who would like very much for motherhood to have meaning. They would probably roll their eyes if they read this post, which they probably will not. On their easiest days I am simply a projection of their desires. I am what they need me to be. And at my most difficult I am deeply, inscrutably me, without gender or nameable identity.

Motherhood is a mess. I question the wisdom of engaging/indulging it from either angle.

Wednesday, January 31, 2018

there is a sweetness i...
almost remember
do you, Clarabelle?
or perhaps that is delusion too
or just that there is a sweetness
i aspire to
that hasn't happened yet
and then i remember that sweet
doesn't mask bitter
it only brings it out
like coffee
which i have come to love
sweetly, actually


sometimes, when chaos beckons and seduces
i trip straight into her whimsical snare
lured by promises of laughter
high off absurdity and the hope
of something new under the sun
dear lady ANYTHING new
and I'm yours
but anyway clarabelle
that's quite a spell
you cast pell mell

Thursday, January 25, 2018

Clarabelle Faro

Goodnight Clarabelle
I hope you're well
I wish you didn't have to yell
And that we could sit a spell

But since you do
Then I will too
Till the air turns blue
And we burned this zoo

I'll see you tomorrow
Cuz there's too much sorrow
What I got you can borrow
Sleep you well Clarabelle Faro

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

half a year later been busy

sometimes i sit on my porch
and rock
(tho not as much anymore)
and think about what
could have been but isn't
was but isn't
might be but isn't
and the utter absurdity of what is
but isn't
a nostalgia for melancholy
(i once loved a man who indulged)
the futility of words
which are never new
because there are no new words
just over and again thrift store thoughts
and it's the rocking that tells me
i'm old
which i blame some of you
for getting me to
sooner than later

Sunday, January 29, 2017

Incomplete Thoughts On the Goose

I haven't been blogging much lately for reasons too many to mention. This post was prompted by a colleague's post about the Wild Goose Festival, which you can find here: "When We (White, CISgender people) Plan Things". Since I was tagged in Deb's facebook post as somewhat responsible, and since I have attended the Goose every year since 2012 (and served as a volunteer festival chaplain since 2013), I'm responding publicly to offer some context and nuance to a conversation on queerness that has been part of the Goose since it's inception in 2011. Let me be clear that I am NOT staff, I am NOT privy to internal organizational conversations, and these are my own thoughts gleaned from participation and correspondence from the Goose over the years.

I expect some pushback from several directions on this post. I welcome it. I feel awkward writing it.

Another disclaimer: As a volunteer, my festival fees have been waived since 2013. This is common practice for festivals trying to stay afloat, but for those of you looking for evidence of bias or payoff, there it is.

I've written several times on my experiences as a queer woman at the Goose. Here are links to the posts if you want them:

I don't remember why I didn't write about the Goose in 2014, but I know last year I just didn't feel any need to. The Goose is a place where I have been welcomed and where I have witnessed an incredible array of other humans welcomed. I have my criticisms of the festival, because, well, it's a festival and rather imperfect. But I have participated in 5 straight years of Gooses, and I rarely do anything for 5 years straight.

Deb's post focused on a letter sent by the Goose President, Jeff Clark. I don't know this guy, had to go look up his name. We've got 46 mutual friends, so I'll probably meet him sooner or later. The main points of the post are below (in blue) with some response from me (in red). Not in any order of importance. YMMV with this festival, but if you find yourself there, look me up. You'll find me at the Desanka Spirit Café, which is run by the evangelical foot washers who will also offer you a free meal or six, no strings attached.

Sunday, November 13, 2016

welp. here we are.

Sunday, November 13, 2016
Sermon by Katie Mulligan

Scripture Readings:
Luke 21:5-19

I love America more than any other country in this world, and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually. ~James Baldwin

So...the election, uh? What a week. I have been watching this election unfold over the last two years with a mixture of cynicism, hope, astonishment, and heightened awareness. As Tuesday night finished its dramatic climax, and one impossible candidate beat out another impossible candidate, and all I could think of was, "Welp. Here we are." And indeed, here we are. As I looked through the scripture this week, thought through the election and our congregation, and realized that we are in the middle of a stewardship campaign, I thought to myself, "Welp. It was sure nice being employed while it lasted."

I imagine this morning that these four walls contain the entirety of human emotion, just in this congregation of 50 people: joy, despair, excitement, fear, frustration, relief, etc etc etc. How many emotions can your single body hold at once? How many emotions can this body, this church, hold at once? Is there a limit? In these next four years, I think we might find out.

I've been advised by pastors who have managed to hold their jobs longer than I that the pulpit is no place for personal politics. And I assure you this morning that I am not here to lift up or tear down either candidate, winner or loser. You have not known me very long--just a few weeks, really. I have only preached twice here. But both times I spoke about racism and police violence and homophobia. It's not a mystery where I stand on justice and oppression, and that stance wasn't different under an Obama administration than it will be under a Trump administration or than it would have been under a Clinton administration. On the topic of justice, I am, my friends will assure you, obnoxiously consistent.

As I went to bed on Tuesday night, I updated my Facebook status to read: "tomorrow it's the same work. people who need food and clothing and shelter. protests to organize and participate in. children and elderly to protect. white supremacy to betray and dismantle. reeducating men (and women) about rape. standing with trans folk. getting our same gender loving on. white supremacy to betray and dismantle."

Here we are. A new president elect. The same work in front of us that was behind us.

It's not been the smoothest start for Pastor Jen and I. Within the first few weeks there were three deaths in the congregation. The boiler acted up. New church calls are always challenging. Part time church calls are extra challenging. Trying to share a brain with a co-pastor, super extra challenging. It was unfortunate timing with the election just 5 weeks into our time with you. You haven't known us long enough for love to cover a multitude of sins. You haven't known me long enough to hear me preach, smile to yourself, and say "Yeah, I knew that's about what she would say." It's like when you first start dating someone and then something big happens that forces all the cards on the table before you were ready quite yet. And so here we are.

The job is temporary anyway, right? Literally, on paper, Pastor Jen and I are called Temporary Supply Pastors. We are in many ways fulfilling the role of an Interim Pastor. We might be here six months, we might be here six years. We're still figuring it out, you the church, and we the pastors. But I'll tell you what, all of us pastors are only ever temporary, and we would do well to remember that. In my first call, where I was the 15th pastor in 50 years, a member of the church came to see me one day. We had had a disagreement over I don't even know what now, and she wanted me to understand my place. She said, "Pastor, you do what you want. I was here long before you got here and I'll be here long after you leave. Do. What. You. Want." I'll never forget it. And I'll never forget that she was right.

My role here as pastor this morning isn't to get you to like me or agree with me. My role here isn't to preserve my job. Although I do like working here. My role this morning, as pastor, is to bring a word from God, as best I am able to interpret it. It is your job, as the congregation, to hold the community together. I am temporary. This community was here long before I got here and likely will be here long after I leave. This gives me both freedoom to speak plainly and a certain reluctance to do so.

So. Here we are.

Our scripture this morning speaks of a time when the disciples were admiring the temple, how beautiful it was, with lovely stone and decorations, gifts and offerings to God. The space was aesthetically pleasing. And Jesus said, "Aha! And yet, calamity will come upon is and this temple will be destroyed!" Understandably, people got a little excited about this and started asking questions. "When will this be? How will we know?" And Jesus said, "Ohhh, it's gonna be a hot mess. Nation against nation! Wars and destruction!" Or in the words of the original Ghostbusters movie: you could accept the fact that this city is headed for a disaster of biblical proportions. What he means is Old Testament, Mr. Mayor. Real wrath-of-God type stuff! Fire and brimstone coming down from the skies! Rivers and seas boiling! Forty years of darkness! Earthquakes, volcanoes! The dead rising from the grave! Human sacrifice! Dogs and cats living together! Mass hysteria!

Does that sound familiar? Sounds like my facebook. But I'll say it again: "tomorrow it's the same work. people who need food and clothing and shelter. protests to organize and participate in. children and elderly to protect. white supremacy to betray and dismantle. reeducating men (and women) about rape. standing with trans folk. getting our same gender loving on. white supremacy to betray and dismantle."

And I believe it's the same work no matter who you voted for last Tuesday, what your party affiliation is, whether you are joyful or devastated by the election results, we are called by ALL of the Old Testament prophets, Jesus and a host of other biblical characters to do justice. If you've been in the church longer than a minute, you know Micah 6:8--"He has shown thee, O man, what is good and what the Lord requires of thee. But to do justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with thy God."

There's no Republican Pass. There's no Democrat Pass. For me there's no Green Party or Socialist Party Pass. We don't get a pass for the way we perpetuate systems of injustice--even when we do it out of ignorance, best intentions, or conviction. Electoral politics don't get us jewels in our crown or brownie points in heaven. Saved by Grace, sent out to Love, that is it. Do justly, love mercy, walk humbly with God.

And O Lord, do I struggle with humble.

Every person in this room has an obligation to justice and love. Every person in this room has an obligation to stand with the marginalized, even if you are marginalized yourself. In face, it is LIKELY that in any given place, time, or context, that you will find yourself marginalized along some axis of oppression. Because this is life. And life is profoundly unfair, unjust, broken beyond words. What we have is each other.

Do you remember my first sermon? I told you that I only have one sermon and that the message is always this: We find God in the love we have for one another. God dwells in the relationships between us.

Two summers ago a 14 year old boy was shot in Trenton by police officers while he was running away from them. He had seven bullet holes in his body, in the back of his legs and torso. At least eleven more bullet holes and casings were found nearby scattered on the ground, in cars, and even in the walls of peoples homes. One bullet went through an apartment wall, across the room, and lodged in another wall. The family was home, but luckily the resident of that room wasn't hurt.

As you can imagine, the community gathered. There were opinions all over the place, from "What was a teenager doing on the street so late?" (It was 10:30 on a warm summer night) to "Why was this child shot by a sheriff and a state trooper?" (instead of local community police interacting). There was disagreement over whether he had a gun, if the gun was planted, whether it's ok to run from the police, whether it's ok for police to patrol without uniforms in unmarked cars, whether teenagers should be allowed out of their homes at night, whether any of us should be allowed out of our homes at night. Plenty of blame floated around that room.

It would have been easy for that community gathering to fall apart into disagreement and for nothing to be done. But instead what happened is that we began to divide the work. Some people worked on the family's immediate medical needs and emotional support. Some people started looking at legal support. Some people wanted to investigate possible witnesses and video cameras. Others wanted to work on police accountability. By the time we left our second meeting, it was clear that we were not in agreement as to the nature of this event. But it was also clear that there were justice and human needs that could be met by the community. It was clear that regardless of your personal politics, feelings about the police, opinions about teenagers, etc etc that there was work you COULD do that moved us toward justice and healing. I told one skeptic that if all she could do is make a casserole and drop it by the family house, then that's what she should do. She didn't have to protest the police department. She didn't have to show up at the courthouse. If what she had to offer was that casserole, then so be it and she should do it. We didn't do this perfectly. There are things I would change about our community response. But we at least got to work.

I suppose that's what I have to share with you this morning. That this community has a broad spectrum of political opinion. Yet you are still called by God to justice and love. The fact that there are people suffering is indisputable. The fact that there will be people suffering under both this current administration and the next to take office is indisputable. And the fact that God calls you to stand with the marginalize is also indisputable.

A very real question for this church as it moves forward is who will you be? What will your identity in the community be? Will you be a place of sanctuary and welcome for those who suffer? We can argue the finer points--and I'm sure we will. Oh I'm sure we will.

But the work...oh the work. "tomorrow it's the same work. people who need food and clothing and shelter. protests to organize and participate in. children and elderly to protect. white supremacy to betray and dismantle. reeducating men (and women) about rape. standing with trans folk. getting our same gender loving on. white supremacy to betray and dismantle."

And so....welp. here we are.

Luke closes this passage by saying, “But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. This will give you an opportunity to testify. So make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance; for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict. You will be betrayed even by parents and brothers, by relatives and friends; and they will put some of you to death. You will be hated by all because of my name. But not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls."

My role is not to tell you what to think or what to do or how to live or what to believe. I'm here to walk with this church a little way in your journey. I'm here to surface your gifts for service to God and other humans. I'm here to help you discern your call, both personally communally. Some of you will disagree with what I see in this world. Still you are called to justice and mercy and humility. If what you can do is feed and clothe people, then Hallelujah! Keep bringing the food and clothing and we'll keep finding those who need it. If what you can do is pray, then do so fervently, we surely need it. Some of you will see systems of injustice that go beyond the pragmatic fulfilling of daily needs. If so, let's talk more, there are many ways to get connected.

May we fearlessly examine ourselves. May we hear accusations of injustice, racism, homophobia, sexism, transphobia etc. as opportunities to grow and change. May we work diligently toward justice and mercy as best we know how, and may we keep learning how to do it better. The work has not changed--it is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow: feed the hungry, clothe the naked, house the homeless, visit the sick and imprisoned, protest injustice, protect the vulnerable, betray and dismantle systems of oppression and violence, love across boundaries.

By your endurance you will gain your souls. May it be so.