Life is a journey, as we’re often reminded. My own life has taken me to mountaintops of joy, valleys of despair, and everything in between. Recently, my internal journey, conversations with my authentic, interior self, has been a wild ride. One filled with twists and turns, unfamiliar passageways winding through darkness and shadows — and finally, the arrival of a moment of clarity.
A bit of backstory: The most enduring thread in the tapestry of my life has been a calling to continuous spiritual and personal growth. In the last 20-plus years, that took the form of working in pastoral care at my church, Unity Chapel of Light, where I give the Sunday message once a month. (Unity, for those who may not be familiar with it, is similar to Unitarian-Universalist, with — at least for me — a flavor of Reverend Amy Gopp, senior minister of Kent’s United Church of Christ.)
About three years ago, I discerned a call to more formal ministry. In June, after two years of seminary training, I will be ordained as an interfaith minister. I have studied the major world religions and many other spiritual belief systems, with an emphasis on mutual understanding and respect for all faiths. My goal is to do everything I can, with and for others, to foster greater peace, justice and compassion in the world.
The moment of clarity I mentioned a couple of paragraphs ago bounced me out of the cozy little bubble I reside within. The message from the Big Guy (or Gal) was to use my writing and my voice on behalf of others. I already do, but with that “Rev.” soon to be in front of my name, more will be expected of me.
I felt stuck. I felt a strong need to talk about what is happening in our country right now, but I couldn’t see how to do that without involving politics. Finally, I realized: Politics, by its very nature, divides people; love, by its very nature unites people. The message from headquarters was: “Just focus on love, Kathy, like you always do. Keep talking about love.”
Love, for me, means calling attention to the needs of others, to be an ally for those who need one. For me, it all comes down to this: Who is my neighbor? And the answer, for me, is: everyone.
I’m appalled at the extreme cuts in government funding for food programs — programs that feed the most vulnerable people — those at greatest risk of hunger: the elderly, the poor, the children who had been fed through school food programs.
I am alarmed that people from other countries who have entered this country — both legally and illegally — are being summarily deported, without due process, which in many cases is having tragic consequences. Yes, there may need to be changes in our policies, but wholesale deportations are not the answer.
Some of the people being targeted are American citizens. This is personal for me. My son-in-law is Peruvian. He is also an American citizen, the father of my precious granddaughter, and a noted researcher in the fields of ecology and evolution. Will he be detained in Peru the next time he travels there to do his research in the rainforest? When he visits his mother? Told that his American citizenship means nothing? It’s happened to other citizens.
Is all of this politics? No. In my eyes, and in my understanding of God, this is about fairness. Compassion. Love. And, while we’re at it, deciding what our country’s values truly are.
My oldest son’s girlfriend is a professional referee of fencing tournaments, both in the U.S. and internationally. Recently, she was targeted for standing up for the right of transgender folks to compete in fencing tournaments. (FYI: size, weight and age are not issues in fencing; neither is gender. Men and women often fence against each other.) This isn’t a political issue; it’s a question of fairness.
My youngest son’s girlfriend is Canadian. A colleague of hers came to this country last week for a funeral. At the border, the U.S. officials looked through her possessions, went through her phone and forced her to show them the obituary of the person whose funeral she was attending. Is this politics? No. It’s a question of fairness.
Who is my neighbor? For me, the decision makers in Washington are my neighbors. People I don’t like are my neighbors. People who hurt others are my neighbors. People who hurt me are my neighbors. So are the misfits, rejects, those who are “different” in ways I don’t like, those I don’t understand.
This includes LGBTQ folks — many of whom are my friends–the poor, the injured, the vulnerable, the children, the hungry — everyone. The call to love, for me as a minister, for me as a human being, has no exceptions. All are my neighbors and my family. All are worthy of love. It’s a very tall order and sometimes I don’t do it particularly well. Yet I will persevere. I don’t have time to judge, despise or despair. Thank you for taking the time to read about my journey of doubt, complacency, awakening and greater clarity. And now, how about you?
Are you feeling uncomfortable these days? Do you, like me, wish to stay in a safe, cozy bubble? Or, perhaps you’re considering these questions: who is my neighbor? How might I love my neighbor today? How will I show up in the world today?
I hope you are uncomfortable. I hope you are asking yourself those questions. I hope all of us are.
Kathy Baker is a writer and speaker, a messenger of encouragement who loves to touch hearts and tickle souls with her work. She is the author of “Leaving Adversity Plaza,” and “A Tale of Three Choices: His, Hers, Mine.” She loves hearing from her readers and can be reached at [email protected].