And then, there was silence...

When we ask our son Jacob to tell us the names of our pets he does very well to name the dogs, Vinnie and Troy, and the parrot, Gwen. But when we ask him the cat's name, a blank look comes across his face. His brain is processing the question but for some reason, he's unable to answer. Well, the reason is that our cat, Baby Girl (because I'm sure you were wondering her name) is rarely seen.

When we lived in Illinois, Baby Girl spent the majority of her time in our semi-finished basement. It was a place of safety for her, out of the reach of the ever-active dogs. She would make her bed on an old blanket or tablecloth and sleep the days away.

Upon moving to Rhode Island, we were determined to have the animals existing in the same spaces. We blocked the entrance to the basement to keep them out (and to eliminate the possibility of pet hair coming in close contact with the numerous yards of fabric in our sewing/crafting area). And the animals began to find a way of existing within the same space. Of course, if Baby Girl would come running through the house, the dogs were sure to follow. But if she took her time, quietly moving from one room to the other, she was quite often sure to pass through unnoticed.

Lately, Baby Girl has been spending a lot of time either on our bed or a bed in one of the spare rooms. She sleeps a lot! Well, she is up there in years and I believe that when I get up there in years I will be sleeping a lot as well. But something else has changed.

Baby Girl no longer is found venturing into the same rooms occupied by the dogs. She is no longer exhibiting that brave behavior of jumping up onto the living room furniture, even though the dogs are within a few feet from her. She is rarely seen simply passing through. Instead, she maneuvers primarily at night, when the dogs are in their kennels or at times when they are outdoors.

Why the change? What has occurred that has shifted the new-found, Rhode Island, kin-dom of Heaven experience?

Things seemed to be heading in a great direction, going so well. And then, there was silence...

Baby Girl has lost her hearing.

It seems as if it has come on suddenly. One day she would hear our calls to her. One day she was able to hear the scampering feet of her canine housemates. One day she was able to hear... and the next day she was not.

I know that some folks experience this in their own lives, drastic changes in mere moments... life-altering changes. The loss of hearing is a fairly common one, however most that I know have lost (or are losing) their hearing gradually. But we suffer other loss as well... loss of employment, loss of relationship, loss of friends and loved-ones. Sometimes there is a gradual movment toward the loss... but many times it comes suddenly... too suddenly.

In a way, I have grieved for Baby Girl in her loss. I've felt sympathy for her. Her whole world has changed.

She has needed to adapt. And that she has.

She now relies on her other senses to feel instead of hear. She feels the subtle (and at-times, not-so-subtle-seven-year-old-feet-stomping-and-running) vibrations in the house. She feels our footsteps, doors closing, objects being moved. And most times, she simply sleeps, oblivious to the world around her, but safe in her new routine, her new bed.

Baby Girl's transition is one to which I feel I need to pay attention. How she has adapted to this major change in her life draws a complete parallel to change that I (we) experience. I need to see that when things change, in small or major ways, I have the ability to adapt. Though change may be followed closely by that overwhelming sense of loss and grief, I must trust that "this too shall pass..."

A little extra sleep. New routines. A shift in surrounds. Doing what I need to do to take care of myself. These may make all the difference, and allow me (us) to move through the change in as amazingly healthy way.

Baby Girl is asleep on the spare bed as I write this...and I find myself filled with a new sense of joy, replacing the sympathy, as Baby Girl has shown me how its done. And she's done it well!

I have a gun...

I am thankful that when I hear/read the news of another act of gun violence in our country the image that comes to mind is not one of lifeless innocent victims and bloodshed.  Instead, my mind most often goes to the dining room of my childhood home where one wall is covered by a significantly large piece of furniture.  It’s smooth, dark wood sides and glistening plate glass doors stand in complete contrast to the killing machines that are locked inside.  

The family gun case houses a vast array of life-ending artillery.  Shotguns. Single and Double-Barrel. Pistols. Winchesters. Rifles. And two that were given to me as gifts in my younger years… a “you’re going to shoot your eye out” BB gun and my 22 caliber, semi-automatic rifle.

Growing up, I never thought too much about how odd it was to walk past this display each and every time that I entered the house.  I also never really considered what my friends thought as they too walked past this array of weaponry, proudly displayed as if they were our family’s prize possessions.  It was a part of who we were…a family that owned guns, kept them locked in a cabinet in our dining room.  There’s nothing weird about that… is there?

I guess the purpose of having them there may have been that if there ever was an emergency and we were in need of getting to the guns, simply breaking the glass and grabbing one of the many (as long as you knew which ones were sitting there fully loaded) would put us in an advantageous position against our foe.

In reality, the only time I ever witnessed these guns out of the case was when we would take a couple out to the farm and shoot tin cans off of the fence-line.  Oh, well there were those times when we would also unload the entire cabinet, putting the guns in their soft-sided cases and hiding them in the house before leaving for a vacation.  The huge empty case wouldn’t stand as a hint to an intruder that they may simply be stashed somewhere else… (look under the beds)

I remember obtaining my firearm owner identification card… as if it was nothing special.  Of course I own a gun… a 22 caliber semi-automatic rifle, to be specific… you don’t?

But I only knew the purpose of that gun in relation to tin cans and fences.  I never once considered that it could be used to inflict harm on another human being.  I never once thought to fill the chamber with its shiny bullets and then to aim it in the direction of anything that lives or breathes. 

I’m not a hunter… I guess I gave that away.  But above that… I’m not someone who is comfortable even having the guns in my past.  I have no use for them.  I have no desire to be connected to them.  And when seeing how others are using guns to kill innocent people… I want to erase the memory of every holding that rifle in my hands.

Reading about a shooting that took place today at a school in Oregon brings these memories to the surface.  I remember what it felt like to unlock the gun cabinet.  I remember the smell of finely-polished wood and carefully-cleaned steel that burst forth from the case as the doors were opened.  I remember the weight of the ammo boxes in my hand, the gentle clicking of the chamber as it took in each of the bullets, the flat butt of the gun against my shoulder, the small sight in line with my eye and the target… I can and do remember it all each and every time I hear of a senseless shooting.  

I fight hard to keep my mind focused on it, not allowing the media to de-sensitize me… oh, it’s “another” school shooting.  It’s “another” mass shooting.  It’s a shooting where one student died… oh, and the shooter (because apparently his/her death is not one that we are not to mourn).

I do not know the minds of those who unlock their own gun cabinets, load the chambers and line up the sight with the life-sustaining heart of another human being.  

I do not know the life they have lived, the influences they have had, the dreams or nightmares that may coax them to cause harm. 

I do not know the rage, the fear, the depression, the rejection, the abuse, the neglect, the injustice, the oppression… that they have endured.

Or maybe I do…

But it has not led me to go back to those memories of holding that gun, of feeling the power that existed in my hands at that moment, and it sure as hell has not led me to consider hurting or killing someone because of it. 

I also do not know what good it is to write these thoughts today.  Perhaps it is simply to keep me in the moment, to provide time to pray for those involved (the victims, the families and yes, the shooters).  Perhaps I write so that someone will read and spend the same time in prayer with me. 

Perhaps I write because I know that I must do something… no matter how apparently insignificant… to bring an end to the violence.  I join my voice with others who have lifted the same prayers, written with the same anger and helplessness.  I share my words hoping that others will share theirs… and that together we can make a difference… together we can bring an end to the senselessness that plagues our neighborhoods, our schools, our churches, our nation… our world.  

What is the answer?  How will we make our world safer?  How will we put an end to these tragedies?  

Honestly, I don’t know what the answer is…but I know what it is not.

Violence is not the answer…

Silence is not the answer…

Desensitization is not the answer…

No matter how deep the wounds are, no matter how much rage, fear, depression, rejection, abuse, neglect we have bottled up… none of these are the answer.

Maybe you know the answer…and have yet to speak the words.  

Maybe you know the answer…and feel insignificant within the enormity of the situation.

Maybe you know the answer…and the right person has yet to hear it from you.

Share it.  Speak it.  Write it.  Pray it.  Spread it far and wide… so that together we can make a difference…together we can make a change…together we can save lives.  

Together, we can work to bring about an existence where I don’t have to go back to that childhood dining room again.

"If you are a homo..."

"If you are a homo and you are destroying our society, you should be stopped," said lawmaker David Bahati (Read the full article HERE)

For those of you, my friends, who are not gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender... I'm not sure if you can fully grasp how painfully heartbreaking these words (and actions) are to me.

Yes, I live in a country where I am free to be me.
Yes, I live in a country where in many states, it is legal for me to marry.
Yes, I am called to a vocation where I am supported for who I am.

Yet, my heart breaks knowing that this type of ignorance, this depth of hatred and the high risk of physical harm and death exists... not only in Uganda, but in neighborhoods closer to home.

What are we doing to change this?

"First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out--
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out--
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out--
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me--and there was no one left to speak for me."
~Martin Niemöller

We must speak the truth to power!  Who will join with me?  And how shall we begin?

An Open Letter (across the miles) to Gov. Jan Brewer

Dear Governor Jan Brewer,

I will have to admit right up front…I have only been to Arizona one time in my life.  However, the state has in several ways touched my life time and time again over these past few years.  

My trip to Arizona was for an interview with a church in Tucson seeking to call a new Pastor.  As I made the drive into the city from the airport, I saw the landscape of Arizona spill out around me…miles and miles of desert, dry and gray with the random green cacti dotting the landscape.  I immediately thought of the stories I have heard of our South and Central American sisters and brothers risking their lives to cross over into your state…escaping hardship I hope to never experience, in hopes of a new life…in America.  I thought of the rough terrain they must navigate and the unforgiving “dry heat” that complicates their mission even further.

So my first impression of Arizona was rough…dry and gray.  And I could only hope that the people I would encounter would be the warm, bright presence necessary to balance that of the surrounding landscape.

As I was given a tour of the city, I very quickly realized that the people were exactly what I had hoped for…generous, caring, friendly… completely contradictory to the desert that they occupy.

My perception of Arizona began to change very quickly.  I began to see the beauty that the desert presents.  I began to see the life that it enables.  And, in those few moments, I was able to see the promise for ministry with a new church and a new life for me and my partner or 10 years.

Fast forward a bit and the church decided that I was not the one God was calling to lead them.  So my search continued and included another congregation in Arizona.  More open to the prospect of living in this desert state, I engaged in various conversations with the congregation with a glimpse of what life could be for our family.

As it would happen, I instead took a call to minister with a congregation in Rhode Island…far from the desert sands.

But I often wonder what life would have been like had things been different…had I taken a call to pastor a congregation in a state that is inundated with conversations about immigration reform and border-crossings, injustice and death.  And now…seeing that Arizona is on the precipice of injustice once again with SB1062…I am conflicted in my heart as to my physical location.  Had I been called to Arizona, I could be presenting this letter to you in person…standing alongside my LGBT sisters and brothers, asking you to do the right thing and turn this bill and its inner-hatred away.  Had I been called to minister in Arizona, I would have been able to be a constant presence - calling for the justice rightly owed to one and all who identify in ways different than perhaps you do.

Instead, I write this letter from my office in Rhode Island, realizing that although I am not physically able to sit with you and have conversation, I am able to let you know where I stand.

I stand, first and foremost, as a child of a loving God, made manifest in the life and teachings of Jesus - calling us time and time again to speak the truth to power and to rally for change when we or others suffer injustice.

I stand as an ordained pastor in the United Church of Christ, a community that has taught me time and time again that when my voice is silent I remove myself from the conversation.  I am called to share the Gospel of Jesus Christ - teachings that center often on the poor and marginalized.  I minister with a group of people passionate about this calling and I stand before them as an example of living our faith out loud.

I stand as an openly gay man, once marginalized and yet now loved and affirmed in the church, in my community and day after day, further in the world…

Until something like SB1062 arises and threatens to change it all.  

With the stroke of your pen, you have the unfortunate ability to light a stronger fire under the injustice that is already widespread.  But also with that same pen, you have the ability to stand with me…with others who are just as passionate, just as deserving, just as concerned about being treated fairly.  You have the ability to shut it all down.  

Across the miles I call to you to make the right decision..veto this bill…and do it quickly, without blinking, because you know in your heart that is what needs to be done.

And know that across the miles I will be watching, as will others, eager to celebrate the work you will do in not turning back the clock to a time when the very being of an individual designated the services and resources available to them.  

And although I am physically so far away…know that I am open to having further conversation with you on this movement.  My voice will continue to be shared.

Blessings,

Rev. Timoth Sylvia

My Shower Routine

WARNING – This post may begin a bit weird.

So...the other day, as I was taking a shower (see, I said it would be weird), I had this amazing epiphany.  Well, let me go back a little further to make sense of it all.

During our recent vacation in Maine, Peter and I were staying with his sister and her family.  While taking a shower at her house, I was encouraged to try some of the conditioner that she had.  Now, I haven’t used conditioner on my hair in years but I thought what the heck?  So, I gave it a shot.  I conditioned my hair and my beard.  The results were awesome! 

Once I returned home, I went to the store and purchased the same shampoo and conditioner that I tested in Maine.  And when I went to use them for the first time, I realized that I needed to do something different.  You see, when I take a shower, I have a certain routine...I start with one part of my body and continue in the same order until I conclude by washing my hair.  But now, I am in need of washing my hair first so that I can apply the conditioner and leave it in for the duration of my shower. 

Not a big deal, right?

Wrong!

There I was, taking my shower, I washed my hair, put in the conditioner and started into my “routine” when all of the sudden I stopped.  I couldn’t remember where I was in that routine.  I was completely thrown off.  Had I washed my feet already?  How about my back?  My arms?  Did I wash my face before I washed my hair? 

I was utterly lost in my shower routine and the only solution was to start all over again.

Ok, if you’ve read this far then I’m confident that I haven’t given too much information. 

But haven’t we all experienced something like this before?  If not in our shower routines, in other aspects of our lives?  We go about doing the same thing, day in and day out.  And then all of the sudden, something enters in and causes us to pause.  Some proverbial wrench gets thrown in our works and stops us dead in our tracks. 

If it isn’t happening in our shower routine, how about in our faith journey?  Ever have someone share something with you, a bit of their own theology, that simply rocks your world?  And in that moment we find it very difficult to go forward.  It’s as if our theological feet are stuck and we don’t know what to do.

This happened to me not too long ago.  I was attending a lecture presented by one of my seminary professors, the AMAZING Dr. David Trobisch.  In that lecture, David shared new findings in regard to what we consider our New Testament today and the realities that what we may think we know about it could be very, very wrong.  He spoke of the insertion of the particular books, the suspected authors and the reality that the collection that we use today is not what was originally intended. 

I recall speaking with David in that lecture asking him what I was to do with the information that he taught me while in seminary because it seems I have a new set of knowledge to work with. 

And it is this new information that rocked my world...stopped me dead in my tracks...caused me to pause and consider what I had been about up until that very moment and try to figure out how it is that I am going to proceed.  David’s teaching presented the wrench in my own theological works.

Because of that...I have been digging further into those scriptures, trying to discover for myself how they are to be used in my own faith journey...and then, in my role as Pastor, I’m looking for ways to share that which I am learning (without rocking the worlds of others – although that can’t be all that bad, actually).

I think of those who may have encountered Jesus for the first time and heard some of the things he was saying. 

“Take all that we have and give it to the poor” 

“Blessed are those who mourn”
“This child is not dead, but asleep.”

Really? 

So how has your world been rocked lately?  If it hasn’t, what is keeping that from happening?  Are you not allowing yourself to be in those situations that may make you uncomfortable?  Are you not inviting the opportunities where your own faith, your own theology may be challenged?  Let me be the first to say... that must change.

Seek out those opportunities to be challenged.  Step out of your comfortable theology zone.  Live in such a way that you find yourself growing more and more because of those experiences. 

I can tell you it will be a wonderful thing...

Let me know when it happens.  I want to hear all about it.

Taking a Personal Interest...

What makes you walk through the doors?

I have recently been in conversation in regard to the desire many of us have to be part of a church.  What makes us desire such an experience?  I believe the answer is just as fascinating as the conversation itself.

On one hand, we could say any of the following are drawing us through the church doors:

• We want to raise our children in the faith that we claim. 
• We want to have an opportunity to worship and grow in our own faith journeys. 
• We seek spiritual guidance.
• We want to do good.
• We feel obligated to be there...

We all have our reasons...many of which aren’t represented by this list.  But I would propose that there is one answer that is more basic and that speaks to our collective experiences.

There is something that we are seeking...something that will give us the get-up-and-go on that Sunday morning (or Wednesday evening, or Saturday evening, or whenever worship is scheduled in the community we visit...), something that propels us from our homes and fuels us to walk through the doors.  That propellant is the desire to be part of a community.

It’s that simple.  We desire to be part of something larger than ourselves...and a faith community provides that opportunity.

We walk in the doors seeking acceptance...

It sounds a bit selfish, really.  But the reality (I believe) is that at our core there is a strong desire within each of us to be connected with others.  It doesn’t matter if we identify as introverts or extroverts.  It doesn’t matter if we typically monopolize a conversation or if we are happy to simply listen.  It doesn’t matter if we have a lot of friends or just a few.  We are drawn to be connected with others at the very core.

So what does that look like in the local faith community?  What do we (or would we, if we haven’t gone through the doors yet) experience when we take that step? 

Hopefully (and I know this is not always the case, unfortunately) we are welcomed, genuinely...welcomed for who we are regardless of how we dress, how our hair looks, if we have tattoos, piercings, unmanageable children, if we show up late, or if we are there an hour early because we forget to change our clocks at the time change.  Hopefully someone is there to greet us with a smile, ask our name and invite us to join in with the others.

And from there...?  The possibilities are endless.  Relationships can spring up.  Work can be accomplished.  We find ourselves with a growing personal interest in others and we see that others have the same interest in us. 

The worship service, the Bible study, the fellowship group, the potluck...they are all secondary to the connections that we desire as part of the community. 

But the first step is walking through the door. 

If we have already taken that step, then our work is on the side of acceptance and welcome.  It’s a two-way street.  We give and we get.  And from that, with authentic interest in one another...amazing things will happen.

So when was the last time you found yourself having increased personal interest in someone else?  Isn’t it about time for it to happen again?

It's Not Well...

I can't sing the words anymore...

It's not well with my soul...

Not if by saying it is well I am saying that my soul is well due to the brutal death that Jesus suffered. 

Jesus didn't pay for my sin with his body and blood. 

Yet the song goes on. It goes on. Voices strong singing the words written for a generation gone by. 

Do people not think of the words they are singing?

Do they believe those words to be true?

And maybe for them the words are true. Maybe God speaks to them through those words. 

But the reality for me... I'm not there. 

The good news...? I know it's ok. 

There you go...it's ok with my soul. It's ok...it's ok with my soul. 

The God I worship doesn't mind that I don't sing those words. The God I worship doesn't mind that I struggle. Actually, the God I worship encourages the struggle...embraces it...encourages it. 

It's ok. It's ok with my soul.