Coming in, Coming Out

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Coming Out, Coming In

Thought to ponder at the beginning:
If only I could change the world around me, perhaps my truth won’t one day be the end of me.
―Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing

Mzeei was 130 years old – middle aged for a giant, 4-foot long male Aldabra tortoise. A cold-blooded reptile, Mzee was characterized as “grumpy” at the Haller Park in Kenya, where he lived. He spent his days, as tortoises do, swimming, eating, and sunning – but not socializing, for reptiles do not form attachments to others, not even to animals of their own kind.

Late one night, Haller park managers added a new occupant – a baby hippo – to the boma, or enclosure, where Mzee lived. Tired and frightened, the baby made a bee-line for Mzee and tried to hide behind him. Annoyed, Mzee moved away. But the baby followed, persistent in his quest for connection. Mzee moved away again.

The park managers and veterinarians left that night certain the baby hippo would realize the tortoise was not his mother and cease pursuing Mzee and that Mzee would consistently reject the baby’s advances. But in the morning, the tortoise and hippo were snuggled up together, beginning a celebrated, improbable, and lasting friendship.

The baby hippo had his own story. He had lived in a pod of hippos typical for the sociable animal they are. Roughly 20 hippos comprised this particular pod on the Sabaki River in Kenya. But in December 2004, when the baby hippo was about a year old, the waters of the river flooded and his pod was washed to the mouth of the river. When the December 26, 2004, tsunami struck, the baby’s pod was washed away entirely. The baby was the solitary survivor.

The scared, wet, slippery, 600-pound orphan needed a home. Rescuing him proved difficult and might have been impossible were it not for the bravery of one rescuer, Owen Sobien, who threw himself onto the hippo long enough for others to capture the baby in a net. Thus the baby hippo gained his name – Owen.

Haller park managers worried about Owen. He was still a nursing baby. He was too young to know how to forage for his own grass. And of the gentle animals that lived in the boma – the bushbacks, vervet monkeys, and tortoises – none seemed the right ones to model how to eat. Owen refused the leaves park managers left out for him. But within days, Mzee taught Owen which leaves to eat, demonstrating how to chew them.

As time passed, the unlikely friends developed ways of communicating. Mzee would nip at Owen’s tail when he wanted to hippo to go for a walk. Owen would take Mzee’s rear foot in his mouth when he wanted the tortoise to move forward. Even more curious, they developed their own vocal language – a series of deep rumbles that they exchanged constantly – different sounds than they would have ever made in other circumstances.

I love stories like that. It seems a lot of people do: a quick search of the internet produces not just Mzee and Owen’s story but also dozens of other unlikely friendships:

  • the cat and the black crow that play together.
  • the mother cat who welcomes an orphaned pink panda to her litter of kittens.
  • The lioness who adopts a baby oryx.
  • The lactating dog that mothers a litter of orphaned kittens.
  • The sheep that befriends a depressed, orphaned baby elephant, giving him enough companionship to make him want to eat again.

And so on. The stories are heartwarming. They defy expectations. They ask me to look again and to question my assumptions. For me, they serve as an inspiration for the arm of our Mission Statement that says we “welcome all.” (We say, “Our Mission is to be a spiritual community, to welcome all, to nurture one another, to work for justice, and to care for the earth.”) As we live into our Mission Statement, we aim to create the kind of sacred and safe space where people can “come out” as whatever and whoever they are and be welcome here. A place where people can come out and come in.

Creating such a space is a tall order, and a fitting one to explore today as we mark both Indigenous People’s Day (October 12) and the 25th anniversary of National Coming Out Day (October 11). It may feel challenging and risky, a little bit at least, to welcome all, but our congregational eye is cast more on the potential and rewards involved. Welcoming all establishes a radical hospitality that considers each voice part of the whole. Each human soul is a spark of the Divine – no matter how hidden that spark may appear to be from the outside looking in. A tapestry of many different strands contains far more beauty than one created from monochrome strands. Welcoming all means to adopt a certain humility – that I need to take in the realities and views of others so that I can do my own true growing.

Our congregational aspirations are counter-cultural in a world that works hard to accentuate the divisions and differences among others, that attempts to divide human groups in power plays and games of one-up-man-ship. Remember that old advertisement: “My dog’s better than your dog. My dog’s better than yours. My dog’s better ’cause he eats Kennel Ration. My dog’s better than yours”? Welcoming all puts the lie to such sentiments.

If it seems like a feel-good, touchy feelie sentiment, to welcome all, let me offer another viewpoint to show just how badly needed our Mission Statement is in our world. A week ago, Chris Hedges published an article called, “The Radical Christian Right and the War on Government.” The whole article is well worth reading. He describes Christian Dominionists – those right wing Christians who seek for their specific brand of Christianity to gain dominion over the world, starting with the United States of America. Hedges isn’t the only one to sound the alarm, but his article is the most recent one I have read. He opens it this way:

There is a desire felt by tens of millions of Americans, lumped into a diffuse and fractious movement known as the Christian right, to destroy the intellectual and scientific rigor of the Enlightenment, radically diminish the role of government to create a theocratic state based on “biblical law,” and force a recalcitrant world to bend to the will of an imperial and “Christian” America. Its public face is on display in the House of Representatives.

This ideology, which is the driving force behind the shutdown of the government, calls for the eradication of social “deviants,” beginning with gay men and lesbians, whose sexual orientation, those in the movement say, is a curse and an
illness, contaminating the American family and the country. Once these “deviants” are removed, other “deviants,” including Muslims, liberals, feminists,intellectuals, left-wing activists, undocumented workers, poor African-Americans and those dismissed as “nominal Christians”—meaning Christians who do not embrace this peculiar interpretation of the Bible—will also be ruthlessly repressed.

The “deviant” government bureaucrats, the “deviant” media, the “deviant” schools and the “deviant” churches, all agents of Satan, will be crushed or radically reformed. The rights of these “deviants” will be annulled. “Christian values” and “family values” will, in the new state, be propagated by all institutions. Education and social welfare will be handed over to the church. Facts and self-criticism will be replaced with relentless indoctrination. ii

History shows that repressive movements require those doing the repressing to believe another group of people to be “other,” “less than,” subhuman. Our congregation has explicitly chosen another way – one that lifts up the shared humanity of all, regardless of differences. Indeed, we have chosen for ourselves an important religious undertaking and practice – to say, in the face of a fractured world, that, together, we can become whole. We might be tempted to think of ourselves as just some little church in Mid-Coast Maine – inconsequential, invisible to most. But I say, what we do here matters. We attempt to build here what we want to see reflected in the world out there. And that’s not easy. Not at all.

I was 16 when the Unitarian Universalist Association made its first public declaration supporting gay, lesbian, and bisexual people. For me, it has been fascinating, sometimes frustrating, and sometimes thrilling to witness and be part of that history. Our movement’s history demonstrates both the old adage that “words are cheap” and also the truth that change is possible.

I grew up in an era when being a minister meant being a man, marrying a wife, and raising a family. Gay men followed the convention, living closeted lives for very real fear of rejection and retribution. So, when the UUA made its first statement supporting lesbian, gay, and bisexual rights, that was a big step. But for a long time you still couldn’t be called to a pulpit if you were openly gay. In many congregations, it didn’t feel safe to be “out” if you were a parishioner either. Issues of gender identity – transgender and gender questioning issues – were not even on the table at that point.

In 1987 – one year before National Coming Out Day was established – the UUA began working earnestly on programs that would help churches make the shifts they needed to make to be truly welcoming. As a result, in 1990, the UUA released a new program – the Welcoming Congregation program – to help congregations take up the inner reflection and outer work to effect a change. The UUA would name as “Welcoming Congregations” those congregations that satisfactorily took up the challenge. Our congregation is a Welcoming Congregation. Many are, but not all. There is still work to do.

Today, it is no longer unusual for openly gay and lesbian ministers to be called as ministers in our congregations and to serve as leaders in every other way. Unitarian Universalist congregations have consistently been at the forefront of the marriage equality movement. In my lifetime, I have watched as our gatherings have become sacred occasions of welcome and openness – even as celebrations of the great tapestry we are weaving together.

That doesn’t mean all is perfect. As a denomination, we still have work to do, especially in the area of gender identity. Transgender ministers are still rarely called to pulpits and other leadership positions. But, we have demonstrated to ourselves and to the wider world, that by working together, we can learn new ways of being together, celebrating humanity’s great diversity.

For me, personally, the work has helped me to understand and name privilege Icarry simply because I am straight. In addition, the more diverse and open stories people share, the lives we live side by side, have brought depth and wholeness to my own life.

Welcoming comes with challenges and risks, to be sure. Most often, the greatest risk will be the risk of change – that our community or even we ourselves might be changed. Change is not necessarily bad – it’s often good – but it is often viewed as a threatening, at least at first. Most often the greatest challenge will be for those who already feel established to keep turning back to the open door and opening their arms to those who come after. I suppose it’s part of the human condition to circle the wagons in some way. The unknown can feel scary and threatening. You never know when someone as deplorable as, say, Christopher Columbus might walk through your door.

Our nation celebrates Christopher Columbus because he “discovered America” – something he actually did not do. Here’s what he did do: He sailed his fleet into the lands of the Caribbean. There he discovered friendly people who welcomed him and his crew with gentle, gracious hospitality. The people of the Caribbean were bedecked with gold. Columbus, who might have seen the gentle human spirit in his hosts, saw only the gold. Not the people, but the gold. And he set about getting that gold for himself. He oppressed, tortured, and murdered the people. He took slaves among them – setting the stage for the slave trade whose wounds our country has never healed. His crimes were heinous.

That is why a movement to celebrate Indigenous People’s Day is gaining momentum in the U. S. Instead of celebrating a man responsible for genocide, Indigenous Peoples Day asks us to open our minds to the true history of oppression of indigenous people in the Americas and to open our hearts to the suffering and injustices that continue in the wake of that oppression.

So, yes, the next person through our doors could be Christopher Columbus. And, yes, those 15th century people of the Caribbean demonstrated their own brand of radical hospitality, and they suffered terribly as a result. Being open can create more of a target for the slings and arrows of life.

But, here’s the thing: Welcoming all does not mean we have to welcome all behaviors. Our congregational covenant helps to establish our expectations and guide our behavior. With our covenant we have agreed to:

  • Respect one another and support the work of the Congregation.
  • Listen respectfully to one another.
  • Celebrate and encourage diversity.
  • Be present to one another and attend to one another’s needs.
  • Dream boldly; act with courage and integrity.
  • Give generously of our time, energy, talent, and money.
  • Encourage the spiritual journeys of all our generations.
  • Bring conscience, compassion, and kindness into our interactions and our search for justice.
  • Take responsibility for ourselves and our actions and for upholding the values and aspirations or our covenant.

Setting limits on what is hurtful or hateful is to promote curiosity, trust, respect, and kindness as an alternative. Even Christopher Columbus might have conducted himself differently with the guidance of a congregation like ours.

In Kenya, where the people are experiencing the kind of terror arising from dehumanizing hatred, a tortoise and a hippo have built an enduring friendship. The story of Mzee and Owen fills me with wonder. I say, really? A tortoise and a hippo? A reptile and a mammal? A 130-year old creature and a 1-year-old baby? Really? How wondrous.

Our Mission Statement invites us to create something wondrous, too. To build those unlikely friendships, to open to the wider story – as yet unknown, to create new deep rumbling languages together, to begin, right here, to make of our earth the peaceable kingdom artists have only dreamed of.

“Mzee” is a Swahili word that means “wise old man.” May we always seek to become the wise old turtle, the one who puts aside grumpiness in favor of hospitality, the one who adapts with grace and flexibility to a completely new, unexpected, and unprecedented situation, the one who casts aside old expectations and embraces what is new, more open, and more loving.

 

i. Information about Mzee and Owen taken from Owen and Mzee: The Language of Friendship, by Isabella Hatkoff, Craig Hatkoff, and Dr. Paula Kahumbu. Published in 2007 by Scholastic Press (New York).
  
 ii. http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/the_radical_christian_right_and_the_war_on_government_20131006 Chris Hedges: “The Radical Christian Right and the War on Government,”October 6, 2013.