Transforming Love Sometimes Comes from Talking with Strangers

Fifteen years ago today, I met the woman who would become my life partner in a most unexpected place. I had just arrived in Mexico City the previous day to travel with a dear friend and colleague, Howard. On December 31st, 2000, we visited Teotihuacan, the pyramids just north of Mexico City.

After touring the pyramid of Quetzalcoatl and the Pyramid of the Sun, we decided to ascend the Pyramid of the Moon. A little more than half-way up, as we reached a large flat area, two women asked us to take a photo of them together. As we handed back their cameras, one of them said, “Let’s make a funny picture.” Howard said, “Okay, why don’t you make as if you’re throwing Alan off the temple.”

After taking a couple funny pictures, we laughed and talked briefly. We learned Angelica from Mexico City was giving a tour to her best friend Bea from Switzerland. 

We then left. Later, we ran into the two women again in another part of the ruins. When we asked about finding a bus, they suggested they drive us back to Mexico City. 

As we walked, Angelica asked me about my work. I didn’t want to say “minister” because that’s so often a conversation-stopper. So I said rather quietly, “Ummmm, I lead a church.” She exclaimed, “Oh, you’re a priest!” I tried to explain the difference, but clearly they felt safe with us, two gringoes who are pastors in churches! 

“From here, we’re going to visit the Basilica,” Angelica said, “Because you are like priests, why don’t you join us?” 

We loved seeing the bustle of people and activity, the relic of Lady Guadalupe, hearing the stories about the vision , and learning about the customs. When we went up to the church at the top of the hill where the relic had originally been housed, we were told the church was now closed. Angelica replied that she had two American priests with her. The attendants replied, “Oh, please, come in!” 

This day of laughter and exploration wasn't quite over. Angelica acknowledged that a great way of learning about culture is to see how people live--and that she has had the opportunity to be in the homes of others. We were so comfortable with one another, she invited us to visit her home 

Her parents didn’t blink that she brought two gringoes into their home. They served us "Ponche," a  traditional Mexican holiday beverage made by boiling native fruits. The house was decorated for the holidays. The pots were full of their traditional holiday foods to celebrate New Year’s Eve.

I got Angelica’s email address just before we descended to the metro station. Nine days later, after Howard and I traveled to Oaxaca and Xalapa to visit a friend from seminary, I invited Angie to come with her friend to join us for dinner. Because her friend was no longer visiting, she turned tp her sister, Beatriz, and said, “These guys are inviting us to Cafe Tacuba. They are like priests but they’re fun!” 

Angelica and Beatriz joined us for dinner during which we laughed and laughed and laughed.

This day was a fabulous story in and of itself. 

Two years later we were married on a beach in a small town north of Acapulco. Howard officiated at the service. Bea was a maid of honor. In addition to our families, several friends and colleagues joined us from all over the world. 

Today Angelica and I have two children, Marco and Erica. Each year we give thanks for the serendipity, grace, and laughter that brought us together. 

Two days ago, we returned to the very spot we met, this time with our children. When I said, "This is the exact place where your mom and I met fifteen years ago," a man responded, "Wow! You've made my day, my vacation, my year." Others who heard this exclamation gathered around and asked us to tell our story.

You never know what might happen if you  open to simple, genuine connection when talking to someone unknown to you. Kindness and sharing joy transforms all culture.

We are still laughing together with a prayer that 2016 will bring love and peace and joy from unexpected encounters, gestures of kindness, and a willingness to explore and be touched by who we encounter wherever we are.

Happy New Year!

Love with Courage,

Alan

In Search of a Can of Beans

In the congregation I serve, stories abound about what Greg Risberg gave to others in the form of his humor, his hugs, and his thoughtful and generous attention. 

Just over a year ago, Greg passed away. He was 67 years old and one of the most kind-hearted, genuine people I’ve known. Greg was an author (Touch: A Personal Workbook and 52 Bright Ideas to Bring More Humor, Hugs and Hope into Your Life) and motivational speaker, who, over the past 30 years, brought his ‘Humor with a Message’ programs to more than half a million people across the country as well as in Canada, England and Australia. 

After Greg died, his wife Madeleine shared with me the story the first time he came to her home for dinner. Filled with first-date jitters, he wanted to do things properly and wasn’t sure what he should bring. So, he arrives, knocks on the back door, and walks in holding a can of beans.  When Madeleine asked him why he was bringing the can of beans, he replied: “Because I just didn’t feel like I could come over empty-handed.” 

That was the beginning of a relationship between two beautiful people, who really understood that the best gift they have to give one another and others is not material presents, but their open and honest presence. 

Our culture tells us that we should always bring something with us, that wrapped up, shiny things are important in making people feel good -- and in making us feel good about ourselves.  It’s always a thoughtful gesture to offer a gift of some sort, but there’s something far more profound and sustaining than anything we can carry in our hands. This is the gift of our presence. 

Twenty years ago my Christmas traditions changed irrevocably when my grandmother Carlson suffered from a stroke that not only paralyzed an entire side of her body, but also rendered her unable to swallow. As a Swedish gourmet and proud housekeeper who grew up in Iowa, Grandma Carlson did the holidays up. She not only prepared Christmas dinner, but also led the tree trimming and decorating. When I came home for the Holidays after her stroke, it was painful to see her in such anguish. Then on one visit when it was just me, I brought our church’s hymnal [Singing the Living Tradition], with the idea of sharing some readings and hymns, particularly the Christmas carols. Once I began singing, my grandmother calmed down and seemed more peaceful. It was extraordinary. For over 30 minutes, she didn’t sigh or complain or say a thing, she just listened. Sometimes we are present with those we love in silence or song rather than gifts or conversation, and that is okay.

Fourteen years ago, my cousin Bruce in Boone, Iowa was hanging Christmas lights when he fell off the ladder, an accident that left him quadriplegic. Bruce had served in the Army. He had jumped out of airplanes over 50 times. And then, in one split second, a freak accident changed his whole life, as well as the lives of his wife and three children (ages 10, 7, and 6 months). 

When I moved to Oak Park in 2003, I visited Bruce and his mom Rosalie for Thanksgiving. It was hard. I didn’t know what to say. But even in our inadequacy, our presence is enough. 

This past Thanksgiving, I returned to Boone as I have several times over the years. On this trip, we talked and laughed and went to the local Methodist church for dinner where they served 400 meals (that’s 32 turkeys!) During the trip, my four-year-old daughter climbed up onto Bruce’s lap and hung out there.  She loves standing on his wheelchair between his feet or sometimes right on his feet.  The joy I saw in both of their eyes was dearly precious.

Our Holiday traditions naturally evolve or change abruptly. But what is most important is that we develop traditions that provide quality time with others, where we can give of ourselves  -- and, that most precious gift -- our attention. And, we need to open our own hearts to receive that gift when it comes to us. 

In the spirit of Greg Risberg, “The time we spend with others is precious,” he says.  “And one of the most important ways we have to affirm our relationships is paying attention to what others need to talk about without letting our own concerns get in the way.”

….. A true gift from a generous friend.

Giving thanks with awareness of our collective original sins

Thanksgiving has always been a wonderful break to gather with family and friends, but also a time to clarify what specifically is worthy of celebrating.

I give thanks for the values this nation's founders sought--the freedom for each American to live out his or her most cherished ideals, the opportunity to speak our conscience without fear of reprisal, the separation of church and state, and the protection from individuals and organizations who threaten to violate our basic freedoms. 

But the story of how our nation has lived out these values is deeply checkered. Beginning with the displacement and exploitation of native peoples that has occurred for generations--our Thanksgiving story is a myth that glosses over the treatment of Native Americans.

But that’s not the only original sin of our nation. The institution of slavery that was protected in this nation’s original documents has contributed to a history of racial tension that still has yet to be resolved. 

Throughout our history, the nation’s leaders have failed to live up to the sacred ideals of our nation from the very beginning. Since then, leaders have seen fit to treat some of our people as ‘less’ than others, often favoring people who look and act like those in power and limiting the rights of populations who don’t. Examples include Irish, Italian and Polish immigrants exploited for their labor, Japanese citizens rounded up into concentration camps during WWII, Mexicans forced to show documentation of citizenship, and now Muslims being targeted by some politicians as potential terrorists.

During this Thanksgiving week, our region is haunted by the legacy of racism, inequality and injustice. Here in Chicago, we must come to terms with a cover-up of the murder of a 17-year-old black boy by a white Chicago police officer. 

The last two nights, hundreds of protesters marched through the streets chanting "16 shots" responding to the release of a video showing Laquan McDonald being gunned down; many of the shots fired after he fell to the ground.

When the City of Chicago first became aware of this video, they offered $5 million to Laquan’s family with the stipulation that the family would not seek to make the video public. This happened before the family had even filed a lawsuit. 

The leaders of Chicago and Cook County are struggling to deal honestly with the shooting of a teen. They knew what happened was unacceptable, yet remained silent, while the trigger-happy officer faced no charges--until a court ordered the video released.

Cook County State’s Attorney Anita Alvarez declared that the video would not be released until a federal investigation was concluded. But now that the video has been released, Alvarez has suddenly filed charges against the police officer. Why not months ago? Why the cover-up? 

The Chicago Reporter just released an article that raises ever more questions.

This week, I give thanks to be able to celebrate with loved ones. I also give thanks to be a part of a community of clergy and concerned citizens that are willing to organize against injustice, that are prepared to ask challenging questions, that are committed to working together to seek fairness for all people, including transparency in the methods of investigating police conduct – and misconduct.

That’s the kind of America I want my children to live in, an America that is committed to becoming an ever more perfect union.

Let Us Offer Refuge

The past few days have been a time of anguish and incomprehension. On Friday I was in a state of shock taking in the overwhelming brutality of the the attacks in Paris. My heart goes out to the many, many families whose loved ones were killed or seriously injured. 

The morning after the Paris attacks, I didn't want to rush out and do anything. But I had committed to attend a training sponsored by RefugeeOne about what is involved in supporting refugees who come to the United States. And so I pushed myself there. 

It gave me solace to be with 170 other people of faith representing 50 congregations, who are committed to helping refugees seeking a new life in America. We were Christian, Jewish, Muslim, and Unitarian Universalist. We could express our shared grief--and our shared commitment to recognize the humanity of so many people who are pushed out of their homes by similar brutality.

The refugees that RefugeeOne resettles in the Chicago, many of whom are Muslims, have fled their homelands where so many of their friends, neighbors, and often even relatives have been killed. They leave because staying is untenable. 

But as we have witnessed over and over, when refugees seek a better life, there are tremendous perils on the journey. Many have died needlessly. Many are detained in refugee camps and wait and wait and wait. Sometimes for decades. 

When those who finally reach the United States, their hope is to create safe, productive lives. However, what awaits them is an extensive vetting process that narrows the vast numbers of those who need help into a mere trickle. 

Although many individuals soon become contributing members of society, many more face overwhelming struggles because they don’t have the skills to offer because they are poor or they have spent much of their lives detained by political or military events over which they have had no control. 

Over 50 million refugees worldwide are currently seeking asylum and a chance at a new life. They come from brutally violent places all over the world. Syria has been in the news, but the number of Syrians coming to our country is very, very low. There are many refugees coming from Iraq, from Africa--especially Congo and Somalia, and out of Myanmar (formerly Burma) and other south Asian countries. 

The numbers that reach the United States is very low, and I pray President Obama will provide resources to support these people who know profound sorrow and suffering. And we can locally. Between the church teams, volunteers and the good social services already in place on the northside of Chicago, RefugeeOne and other resettlement agencies are making a tremendous difference in the lives of these desperate people.

When a refugee family arrives, they have literally nothing. RefugeeOne provides the structure for congregations to offer direct support that helps assimilate refugees into our community. It begins with showing up at the airport to welcome the family to Chicago. Volunteers make weekly visits to provide comfort and support. There are fund drives for clothing and household goods. Mentors help refugees learn a new language.  There are classes and social services to teach families how to live in a big city, how to navigate the many demands of modern life, and how to survive in this country that is so unfamiliar to them. 

Some congregation members offer to sponsor a family. The cost to provide housing and furniture is about $8,000 a year. I am deeply thankful that my congregation will host at least one family and I am hopeful that we can host two or three more by spring.

In the process of supporting a refugee family, I am confident that we will become the ones whose hearts are opened, whose lives are enriched. 

Actively and sincerely caring for people who know profound sorrow and suffering is at the heart of all spiritual teachings. Taking action to help the thousands of frightened, hopeful and incredibly brave human beings who seek refuge in this country is how we express the moral teachings that make up the best of all religions. 

It is natural to experience fear in the wake of the attacks on Paris, in Lebanon, and wherever violence erupts, including in the city of Chicago. In my congregation, we read the names of those killed by violence in the city of Chicago. At times it is demoralizing. But if read the names of people killed by violence in wider circles, we'd be paralyzed. Fortunately there is another way.

Fear spreads when we remain isolated from others. Fear threatens to become our society's plague. Fortunately there is another way: love through courage.

Love emerges when we come face to face with others, when we help others, when we show up in the worst of times despite so many doubts--to help those most gravely in need.

Love enlarges us. Love moves us through our fear. The greater our love as a wider community, the less fear will isolate us and destroy us. 

Celebrating All Souls and The Day of the Dead

Above my son’s bed hangs a photograph of him with his beloved Mexican grandfather gazing at him with kind eyes.  The picture helps Marco remember his abuelito, who died four years ago.  

Another cherished object in our home is a colorful round rug made for Marco by Joan Van Note, who died recently at 92. Joan was one of the most attentive, hospitable and engaging members of the congregation I serve. Yesterday we held a memorial service to celebrate her life and mourn her death.

Today is All Souls Day, a holy day that embodies the memorial service we held yesterday. All Souls Day and El Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) remind us that we are part of a broad matrix of relationships, and this celebration is for the purpose of recognizing all souls, not just our own loved ones.  

When asked about his religion, William Ellery Channing, the minister whose vision inspired Unitarianism, said:  “I am a living member of the great family of All Souls.” 

The photograph and the rug are tangible mementos of people my family have loved and lost. We’ve told Marco that his grandfather is both nowhere and everywhere at the same time.  “You can think of abuelito and Joan in the glow of the stars and the blaze of the sun, for their love is now a part of the warmth and light that make all life possible.” 

When we die, we lose our physical location in the world but our love, our honesty, our integrity and courage, our acts of kindness and compassion  -- all ripple forth, and, like our grandfathers and grandmothers, our dear friends and companions that pass, they become a part of the breath of the ancestors that intermingles with everything. 

Too often our culture encourages us to forget those who have come before us, leaving us with the mistaken belief that we are the architects of the many blessings we enjoy. The truth is that we sit under trees we did not plant, we use resources we did not create, we build on foundations we did not lay, and we enjoy customs woven from centuries of family traditions.

My son Marco is in the second grade religious education class at the church I serve. The students have been talking about All Souls Day and the Day of the Dead, each child recounting a loss they have experienced – a pet, a grandparent, a friend. Together the children remembered the good things about these loved ones, even though it can feel frightening and sad to understand that they are gone physically from their lives.

This sharing is at the heart of El Dia de los Muertos and extends throughout the year. I love this part of my children’s Mexican heritage. I am hopeful Erica and Marco will know their grandfather through our stories and mementos, better than I knew my grandfather who died when I was five years old. Since discovering this aspect of Mexican culture, I have sought stories of those whose love shape my life and shaped my parents’ and grandparents'  lives. 

Are we not each a member of the great family of All Souls?  If we consider our location amidst humanity, not only in the present moment, but in the generations to come, it is good to recognize whose love has sustained us and whose love we take forward.