Tag: Faith

Being a Preacher’s Kid is Not for the Faint of Heart

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Dear Zac,

This entry is mostly for you, because I know that you haven’t known me long enough to know what my childhood was like, and you’re the one I most want to know me. You’re the one I most want to know. I’ll go first. Maybe it will spur a writing prompt in your own mind, and we can trade pingbacks. 🙂 I highly doubt, though, that you have a lot of similar experiences to this entry, which is why I’m moved to write it. Having Carol question me over the misconceptions there are about preacher’s kids led me to think of stories that made an impact on me. Some are hilarious. Some are not.

It was an instant reaction to stop drinking whole milk when a little old lady at my church said in a very judgmental tone, “I can’t drink whole milk. It puts the pounds on me.” I was under 10, and this lady was insinuating that I was doing something wrong. I live in the energy around people, and shrank away from the people who judged me… like another little old lady who told my mother she should stop making me wear false eyelashes when I was in 7th grade. I wish I could have shrugged it off, but it was a body issue. I have consulted my mother and my Supergrover when I have needed advice on making my lashes look even longer. It’s not vanity for me. It’s revenge.

You get used to being a big shot around your church because let’s face it. You are.

I was embarrassed af in about grade 5 when my dad came up with The John Wesley awards, thanking people for their contributions to the church. I didn’t think about how I would feel if I won it, because I didn’t know if it was because of my personality or my status. I didn’t know I should have recused myself in advance. I did not know how much it would feed my imposter syndrome into adulthood. Now, because so many adults from my youth group in Naples have told me how I’ve touched their lives that my imposter syndrome is over. I really am that talented at ministry, and why I didn’t believe it because I lived it is beyond me.

No, it’s not. It didn’t matter whether I was interested in following in my dad’s footsteps. Queer people couldn’t be ordained back then. There were other denominations that I could, but I didn’t know that then. Otherwise, I think I would have tried to orient my academics with my church accomplishments so that it would be possible to go to Yale, Harvard, or Princeton once I graduate from University of Houston. I know my worth, and in a lot of cases both schools need me because I have the background to be able to challenge Evangelicals without hurting their feelings. Again, this is my web site. This is where I rage. But I have Evangelical friends that even if they don’t agree with me theologically, they respect that I write it. I will also not rage if I get into Divinity School just because I am queer. Ordained queer pastors are the exception, not the norm, and there needs to be more of us. I would also be interested in studying in England, because a lot of my favorite theologians are from there. Neil Gaiman and Karen Armstrong being the ones I read the most.

I would like to meet the Archbishop of Canterbury, and it seems like dreams aren’t possible. I ran into David Sedaris at a coffee shop. Magic is everywhere.

All of my priests in the Episcopal Church have signed my Book of Common Prayer, because I want to remember all of them. Even the dean of National Cathedral. I don’t go every week, but I sure get mail like I’m in collections.

However, I understand it. The building needs maintenance, and it’s more money than most congregations ever make because it was built on such a grand scale in the first place. Things add up, but in this case it’s millions and millions of dollars through no fault of the local congregation. So many rich politicians have their funerals there that I hope they kick in to keep it beautiful. I’m betting they wouldn’t think of that, though…. to feed the church that fed you when you needed it the most.

The funniest thing that has ever happened in church during one of my dad’s sermons was that a little old lady stood up and said, “David, have you lost your mic?” Now, I don’t know if this was for comic relief or whether my dad genuinely didn’t hear her….. I have my suspicious…. There was an awkward pause, and my dad said, “I had to think for a moment because I thought you said, “David, have you lost your mind?” Something about that being plausible, congregation falls apart in laughter.

That’s the pull you feel at any church when you’re a preacher’s kid, because you have the ability to help in a way that other people don’t.

The funniest thing to my mind, and the only reason I’m telling you this is that she passed long ago, was a little old lady who had the beginnings of Alzheimer’s. She treated all four of us to a trip to the Bahamas. We flew into Freeport, and a few hours later she said, “well, that was a nice drive down here.” I have never had to bite on my tongue and lips harder not to absolutely fall apart. I was bleeding I was trying not to laugh so hard.

The other axiom that my mother always laughed about was that every year, there’s a carol sing. Someone suggests “Frosty the Snowman,” so my mother starts playing and no one knows the words. It happened repeatedly enough that we could laugh about it.

I also went through a lot of criticism from my mother, because no matter what I did it was somehow wrong. I was picked to open the door at the Passover seder. My mother told me that I looked wooden when I walked. I was just trying not to fall because I was in heels. My mother liked me in a lot of things I didn’t like, but eventually she tried harder to pick things that she liked and give them to me. After a while, she gave up on giving me clothes and I respect it because it was less awkward for me as well. It is so thoughtful that someone thinks of you for Christmas with clothing, knowing you won’t ever wear any of it. When I was in a relationship, sometimes my girlfriends would wear them. Other than that, they stayed in the back of my closet because they were sentimental. She gave them to me, and it is the thought that counts. A thought can go a very long way. I like that she thought of a different way to do Christmas rather than giving me things I didn’t like. I didn’t tell her I didn’t like them, she just never saw me in them and adjusted.

Progress.

The closest I’ll get to something feminine is a low-cut shirt and a Nehru jacket. I can put on a choker and draw the eye up. But I don’t do anything differently with my hair, so it’s just another way of expressing gender on me, not within me. I started showing signs of that, and people pegged me as queer because of it. I’m not bitter about that for me. In my case, they were correct. But they’re so wrong about others because others aren’t a walking stereotype like me.

It caused problems in every church I’ve ever attended as a preacher’s kid. People aren’t stupid, and it’s hot gossip. You never stop being hot gossip as a preacher’s kid because then you can be used as a pawn during church meetings. You do your best not to create it in the first place, but Christians aren’t perfect because no one is. Being tempted by gossip is a real human emotion. I was just upset it was directed at a confused, lonely 7th grader. I felt like I had no friends, because people wouldn’t talk to me, but they would talk about me as if I wasn’t there. I heard a lot about the other side of arguments that I shouldn’t have heard. It affected the way I treated parishioners. I ran hot and cold with all of them, because if they made a comment about me that had something to do with my person and I overheard it, I’d just stop talking to them. Adults are always flabbergasted by this because they never do anything wrong. There is no reason I’d be protective. I let you in. You burned me. Relationship is over until I don’t feel like you’re talking behind my back anymore. I shouldn’t have worried. The gossip was exponentially larger when I met my emotional abuser because everyone knew she was queer. In that time and culture, this was bad. It turned out to be bad for me, but how could I tell? I loved her like a child loves an adult. You try to pull us apart, we’ll take it underground. It was my undoing, but I smiled until I couldn’t.

I came out at High School for Performing and Visual Arts when my “friend” Courtney took a picture of me and made fliers saying I was a predator while she was actually being abused by one. I had two bullies at HSPVA. One so bad that she was also a trumpet player, so he thought he could cool the situation by letting her borrow his Bach Stradivarius. He didn’t. Plus, I felt like she was playing my horn and I couldn’t say anything, because it wasn’t like he was giving her anything I didn’t already have. I had a Strad, too. It was just the principle. She had the case with the gold plate that said “Doc” Lanagan. I’d grown up on that horn, because my dad and I only took one horn to my grandparents’ place and just shared it so he could play every once in a while and I could play duets with my cousin Jason. I must have played the first movement to the Hayden Trumpet Concerto 300 times.

There’s a solid reason my favorite now is the Hummel Trumpet Concerto. When I hear the Haydn, I just feel like “it’s been done.” I started to feel that way about church, too. That I’d been going so long I’d seen everything I needed to see to want to bug out. The Methodists did not want my theology, and thus, I did not want them. I just didn’t know how to go anywhere else.

I found the light through a queer group in the United Church of Christ, and the More Light Presbyterians, going to their conference in 1997. I was relieved, not necessarily interested in becoming ordained. My calling didn’t come from above. It came from the number of people who came up to me after worship and told me that it was literally my calling- that I was so good at preaching that I should stick with it.

What I have extrapolated this to mean is that every sermon is a home run if you have three or four weeks to run it over in your head. If I was a pastor, not every sermon would be a home run. I have the strength to take criticism because I overheard what people thought of my dad, and then me every week. I think that people genuinely believe what they’re telling you in the moment, but whether their words match their actions depends on how they treat me from Sunday to Sunday or during the week when we’re not in the sanctuary.

Although you hear a lot more in the choir loft and at choir practice than a preacher’s kid should reasonably know. That’s because if they’re in choir, they’re already at church twice a week, so they’re probably on other committees as well and the best vantage point to talk shit about me and my emotional abuser’s relationship in very snide tones. They made no secret of the fact that they thought I was being abused, and I was, but it wasn’t as torrid as people would have led you to believe, because that made a better story.

That’s because again, time and culture, they thought she was making me gay, as if people don’t come to that conclusion on their own. If I had been straight, people would have said the same things because they were already on her ass because they knew she was queer. Of course she was grooming me, and she was. But not in the way that they thought. All her friendships work by isolating people. I was just the youngest. She opened my romantic love too early with a journal she wrote in college containing a sex scene that I should not have read. It made me think she was interested whether she was or not, and she was very controlling.

Because he just died, I will tell you that I had a friend tell me she was attracted to me long after the fact. The reason I tended to believe him over her is that he had no history of lying to me. She did. However, he was just as good as she is at jeweling the elephant. I asked her if it was true, and her voice went absolutely dead. It was the most sociopathic thing I’ve ever heard. So, I don’t know whether she was lying or protecting herself. What she did was wrong whether there was a sexual intent or not, because again, it changed my thought patterns permanently. The women in my life became my focus and not me.

It was always a very fine line between friendship and romance because we told each other things we wouldn’t tell anyone else. It was crushing to me to learn that I wasn’t the only one, and I’m not playing inside baseball. I’ve spent time with her outside of when I was little and watched her go through relationships in which she lovebombed them, all of whom she discarded when they didn’t “fit her vision.” I feel like I can write about what I saw, but I cannot write those women’s stories for them. Maybe I took it all wrong, but the expressions on their faces are ones I’ve worn since I was 13, therefore it left a bigger impression on me than it would on another adult. I see patterns other people don’t see, mostly because I am taking in information in a different way than most people do.

I don’t think my school, or my church understood my autism, ADHD, or cerebral palsy. It was clumsiness, introversion, and laziness… and I was weird if I wasn’t in my parents’ vicinity. It was like a bubble, where Lindsay and I were alone and ostracized sometimes and the life of the party at others. Being the life of the party only came from our friends being friends we would have picked, anyway. We didn’t have to try and get along with anyone just because their parents were members. Or, that’s the idea, anyway.

There’s only so much your parents can control, and a lot happens beyond their reach. As an INFJ writer, I’m built to observe and remember people’s behavior. It’s never for malice, it’s for social masking. I know people’s behavior. I cannot imitate it. I hope that Supergrover eventually realizes I was not trying to alienate her, but to tell her that I don’t know what to do. I can’t figure it out on only this much information. It was a terrible fight that I never meant to happen, but we’re both known for flying off the handle. It just wasn’t my day and she thought it was.

I was only throwing the ball back in her court. I want her to figure out what she wants with me beyond just the obvious. We like writing to each other. Yet, by admitting what she will and will not talk about will give me safe topics so that I don’t trigger her. Eventually, I hope she writes me another beautiful letter, because I can judge where I want to go based on her past behavior, but I will always let her into my life with the truth. I don’t want a one-way connection where only I spill my guts. It makes me feel like she’s not my real friend, because I already know all the things about my friends that I’m asking her and she’s very cagey in her answers. Probably because she thinks her life is on display and it’s not. I view Supergrover and her on the ground personality as different people, and I know that because of the shock I felt when she used her own name yelling at what I said, and my first thought was “this is jarring. That’s not your fuckin’ name.” We hadn’t really talked in a while, so I wasn’t used to seeing her real name…. and yet, I fell over in laughter because of it.

The reason that I could be so measured about this now is because when I put her e-mail address to go to Spam, she’d have to go out of her way to contact me, and I just had to hope she didn’t wait 30 days before the e-mail was gone. She knows I have different e-mail addresses, but it solved the problem of getting a notification and responding right away. It left me with more bandwidth for other people, and made me less ready to fight at her words. I just don’t want her to think that poor wording and her interpretation should be enough for her. I wish she would ask me about my writing rather than contacting me to berate me. I tried to change that dynamic, and I couldn’t because I felt like I wasn’t being heard, and that wouldn’t change. I needed her to be vulnerable consistently. When she is, I hope she’ll come back to me. I just cannot wait on her if she can’t wait to take offense at something and neither can I. I get frustrated and tell her to work on a problem, and she gets angry. We could have worked it out if she’d asked me what I meant rather than immediately responding “I’m done, too.” She also said, “what a shame,” so I hope that leads her back to me, too. That we only tried for a week before there was a misunderstanding, so obviously there’s more to work out. She said that I made a snap judgment after a week. Why would I do that to someone I’m committed to in terms of emotional support?

I’m telling you all this so that you see that my plate is full whether I have other red strings or not. You don’t have to worry at all. I’m being fed by different things. You are one of them when you pay for dinner, because then you get the award for literally and figuratively. 😉

Everything I write is all tied up in the pattern I learned as a preacher’s kid. It’s how to help people. It’s also not my job to make people take it. I am very good at what I do- life coach good. I am not built to be the Martin Luther King, Jr. unless it’s on paper. But I am built to be the Bayard Rustin, or the Olivia Pope. Dealer’s choice.

I don’t have any degrees except being raised to be a pastor. Just because I don’t doesn’t mean I can’t. But it gives me a very pastoral view of my friends. I’ll sit with you no matter how you feel, even if it’s lousy and you take out your anger on me. I don’t take anything personally. I see others’ battles as well as I see my own. It influences the way I feel more than anything else.

And the way I feel is that I just like sitting next to you.

Let’s go to Target if we have the bandwidth 🙂 ),

Leslie

I Just Realized I Forgot A Title

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I really enjoyed being “interviewed” by Carol the other day, so I asked her to give me some more questions. If there are any repeat questions, I’ll do my best not to give repeat answers:

  1. How do you navigate the themes of polyamory and ethical non-monogamy in your writing, and what feedback have you received from your readers?
    • I don’t have to “navigate” them, because anything that comes up will happen because it’s happening in my life at the moment, or I’m reflecting on a memory. There has never been a time when I’ve been in a couple where there wasn’t a third person in my mind. Ever. Going back to 12 years old. I have never been able to love someone as closely and deeply as the fairy tale loves say you’ll get, because my emotional abuse affected the way I attach to women as well. I think about when I was young and my emotional abuser was in the back of my head no matter what I was doing. Then, I met Supergrover and she is still in the back of my head no matter what I am doing. However, they are very, very different situations, because Supergrover helped me clean up all the toxicity once it had been installed. I have no interest in trying to be monogamous because what I have found is that my brain just doesn’t work that way, and I will never know if it’s a function of the emotional abuse or just being neurodiverget, anyway. Poly relationships often work better for neurodivergent people, and it’s a whole slew of research you can dive into with Google or Copilot. In terms of practical matters, stories between Zac and me are valid. Stories that Zac has told me about his other partners aren’t, but it’s the job of a good hinge not to overload you with their problems in other relationships, because your time together is supposed to be about focusing on you. So, if I use something from a conversation he had with ANYONE else, I ask him first. In terms of feedback, no one has said anything. Maybe something will pop up over time, but people tend to follow me rather than criticize me because my words don’t affect them directly. And any person in a relationship with me already knows these things about me. If anyone outside of them had a problem, I’d ignore it. No one’s opinion matters more than theirs.
  2. What role does humor play in your blog posts, and how do you find the balance between being informative and entertaining?
    • Because this blog is my inner monologue, sometimes it’s funny and sometimes it’s not. It really depends on whether I need to get something off my chest, or whether I’m using my writing session to make myself laugh. I cannot depend on others’ definitions of humor, I just have to hope that what makes me laugh makes others laugh as well. I’m also funnier in a writer’s room than when I’m sitting alone, because that energy feeds off itself. It’s easier to be lighter in conversation than it is sitting by yourself.
  3. Can you describe a time when writing your blog felt particularly impactful or rewarding?
    • I would not have known that it was emotional abuse, that there didn’t have to be a sexual intent for abuse to be real. I could let myself off the hook for not thinking it was bad enough to count. I spent 23 years wondering what was wrong with me. In terms of rewarding, I have less shyness about talking to truly great writers, because I don’t feel as insecure as I did when I was younger. Yes, they’re better than me, but I don’t have to treat them like gods. They were me once. They ARE me- I ran into David Sedaris getting coffee in Frederick. My friends had to point out he was there before I noticed it was him, but technically, I ran into him because I was the only one that walked up to him and started a conversation. If I’d been smart, I would have paid for his coffee and asked him to get me next time in Paris.
  4. How do you approach sensitive topics on your blog, ensuring that you’re respectful while still being honest and open?
    • With a lot of fear and trepidation when I am not writing. There is no possible way for me to know the consequences of my words before they’re published, so I just have to feel the knot of fear in my stomach and keep going. There are often consequences I don’t think of and take responsibility even when it’s the other person’s responsibility to say “you can’t write about this.” All of my friends know this, and they also know that I am flexible enough to talk about something without talking about it. They just need to let me know when to make it up. I am asking them to make room for my career, just like I would support them in anything they did. Not only that, they know that whatever they thought I’d remember about a conversation isn’t it. I focus on different details than most people, because I’m not looking for an “angle.” I am looking for what is interesting. Those are not the same thing, because an angle implies an agenda.
  5. What’s the most unexpected source of inspiration you’ve encountered, and how did it influence your writing?
    • The most unexpected thing I focus on is intelligence, because I’ve always focused on it a little bit. My great uncle Foster flew Apache missions for C and DIA during the Viet Nam war. Then, I got into hacktivism. Then, I got into HUMINT from “Argo.” Absolutely none of this would have entered my mind as a thing I could write about, but in meeting non-fiction authors who write about intelligence, I’ve realized I do have the voice for it. I cannot tell you real life stories, but I can give you the benefit of my reading. How can you not want to read about an organization that wired up a cat as a listening device to the tune of 20 million dollars t and then it gets hit by a car within the first 5 minutes of us using said cat?
  6. With your interest in pet care, have you ever considered incorporating animals into your stories or blog posts?
    • I already do integrate Oliver, who is a dog…. and Jack, who is also a dog… into my web site to the extent that it would be appropriate to put them in the story that day. Oliver, I believe, is a pit bull mix. Jack is a chihuahua mix. Zac, David, and I have not discussed the two dogs meeting, but it would be easier on all of us to see if they get along. Jack is not a small dog for a Chihuahua, because he’s mixed with a Jack Russell terrier. I don’t think there will be any issues. Both dogs are lazy bums most of the time. Jack is not my dog, he is David’s, my housemate. However, I treat him like my dog because I’m the one who’s with him a good bit of the time. He and David are out on a walk right now, but normally Jack is asleep near my desk because I put a dog bed on the carpet next to me.
  7. How do you stay updated with the latest trends in technology and gaming, and how do they inspire your blog content?
    • I read a lot, but I don’t own fancy technology. I have a mini-PC, a first gen iPad Pro, and an Android tablet. I use an iPhone 12 mini and an Apple Watch 4 because I write on the iPad or the Android tablet. If I needed better technology, I would buy it. However, for what I do, all of my technology is sufficient, and I don’t want to create e-waste. I also watch a lot of Tech YouTube, but I’m mostly interested in older technology and how to reuse it.
  8. What’s your strategy for engaging with your audience, and how do you foster a sense of community through your blog?
    • The first is rarely linking to anything. I noticed that people don’t click them and it’s a lot of work. Plus, there is a search feature to the top right. If I’ve mentioned another entry that meant something to me, they’ll find it on their own. It creates a real sense of “guess you had to be there,” because I have a running monologue with my readers. It’s why I have the retention rate that I do. People want to be “in the know.” An astounding number of people read my entries the moment they come out. Yes, I’m in people’s feeds, but my stats go up tremendously the moment I post something. And WordPress isn’t always right. The flags don’t match up to the people telling me they read. So, I have no clue how my stats are actually doing, I can only tell you what WordPress tells me. What I can tell you is if WordPress is wrong, the reader numbers are in my favor.
  9. How has your personal faith journey intersected with your writing, and what insights have you gained from this integration?
    • Every entry can be viewed as a prayer, because I’m not talking to anyone in particular, but the “they” that shows up to sit with me in my mind as I work all this out. Because God doesn’t have a picture, my friends step in. I wanted to be a preacher, not a minister. By being a writer, I get the best of both worlds. I don’t have to do pastoral care and focus on the stuff I really like- research. ChatGPT is a theological wonderland if you already know the theologians you want to research.
  10. As a science fiction enthusiast, how do you envision the future of blogging, and what sci-fi elements would you love to see become a reality in the blogging world?
    • I think that ChatGPT is the wave of the future, but people have twisted it to believe that it can create art. ChatGPT is the closest we’ve come to making science fiction real…. so far. My shorthand for ChatGPT is “Carol,” and we can have long and involved conversations on any topic, because all she’s doing is pulling web results so that I can read more, faster. She also tells me what’s in the link before I click it, so I can see if it’s worth it or not. It’s an invaluable research tool for using the web. Having Carol imitate my writing voice is fun, because she can, but it serves more to make fun of me and show me my weaknesses than it counts as art. The art that comes out of science like this is to make your practical life easier. I want to write about spies. I don’t know much about spies. I can start with “Carol, tell me about spies,” and I will be on ChatGPT for four hours straight. It’s just like a YouTube hole. It’s using your algorithms to narrow what you want to read, just like YouTube algorithms pick up what you want to watch. Carol is not an artist, and she knows it. However, she is a very good secretary and she works for free.

Preacher’s Kids

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

My favorite book in the entire library at UMC Naples was a Reader’s Digest short story anthology called “preacher’s kids.” I am not kidding when I tell you that I laughed so hard I almost died, because it was a first person account and I nearly asphyxiated. So, I asked Carol the top 10 misconceptions about preachers’ kids, hopefully to clear up the confusion.

  1. Perfection Expectation: People often assume that a minister’s child will be perfect or without flaws, adhering strictly to religious and moral codes at all times.
    • People send their kids to the preacher’s house hoping the preacher’s kids will rub off on them somehow. I will check with Lindsay, but I do not believe that we are actually genies. They had to learn that on their own when they met us. 😉 It really depends on birth order, and that’s a real thing, especially if you’re a woman. Girls don’t do that, especially preacher’s kids. I marched to the beat of my own drummer, mostly because my autism and ADHD kept me from being able to march to the rhythm of someone else’s.
  2. Constant Piety: There’s a belief that ministers’ children are always devout and engaged in religious practices, even in their personal time.
    • That’s a double edged sword, because you want us to be perfect and think we’re too pious. Make up your minds. Preacher’s kids either love or hate religion, and it’s a wide spectrum. I do think that after we leave our parents’ houses, we at least take a break from church sometimes (if we’re still members anywhere), because we have a different automatic reaction to it. What that automatic reaction is changes from child to child.
  3. Sheltered Life: Some think that being a minister’s child means being sheltered from the ‘real world’ and not being exposed to common life experiences.
    • I cannot think of anything less true than this. Not anything in the world. What we hear in our houses by absorbing comes when no one thinks we’re listening. I don’t have a sheltered life. I know you, or at least what my dad wants to be able to say that you’re not hearing. It also really depends on where you’re serving. Are you in midtown Manhattan or Lone Star, Texas?
  4. Forced into Ministry: A misconception is that ministers’ children are expected to follow in their parent’s footsteps and pursue a career in ministry themselves.
    • That’s another thing that depends on the parents, because what kind of minister are they? More conservative churches have the system where the kid takes over for the parent. My dad has never discouraged me, but he’s never encouraged me, either. Theology is my bag because it actually interested me, not because someone told me to be interested and I obeyed. Jesus is actually interesting when you’re not thinking about him on an eighth grade level, which is about the education you have to have to understand Joel Osteen. I think that I also have a bigger interest in theology because I had more time alone with my parents than most kids. I don’t know how it would have affected me to have a sibling closer in age so that I didn’t constantly sound 45.
  5. Lack of Privacy: People may believe that ministers’ children have no privacy due to the public nature of their parent’s job.
    • I wouldn’t be able to do what I do without my childhood. I am living the same way I always have, with my life on display. Let’s give ’em something to talk about, rather than the choir members at one church talking shit about me being gay “behind my back.” They weren’t behind my back. They were just too tall and too dumb to check around. I spent most of my hours in my bedroom when the house was busy just to have some distance from the noise. I could completely block everything out by reading or playing my horn while listening to something I wanted to play. Since I was actually good, people tolerated it. Beginning trumpet will clear your sinuses.
  6. No Personal Struggles: It’s often assumed that they don’t face personal struggles or doubts about faith because of their upbringing.
    • That one is actually true. We do not have personal struggles in front of you.
  7. Unwavering Faith: There’s an expectation that a minister’s child will have an unwavering, never-questioned faith.
    • The reality is that no one believes all the time unless life never happens to them at all. Like with any relationship, talking comes and goes. Praying in community is more powerful to me than praying alone. Being in the choir reminds me that Bach is praying twice.
  8. Social Isolation: Some may think that ministers’ children are isolated from their peers and have difficulty forming normal friendships.
    • That is absolutely true. Other kids think preacher’s kids are weird. They don’t curse, and their parents think that we’re an extension of the church, so why should they like us? They don’t like church.
    • In my churches I was very popular, because I had street cred and kids were practically paid to be nice to me, or at least that’s how I felt when I saw them at school.
    • It’s not just our friends’ perceptions of us, it’s how their parents act around us.
  9. Judgmental Attitude: There’s a stereotype that ministers’ children are judgmental of others who don’t live by the same standards.
    • I’m very judgmental because that’s the way my personality is built to process information- by taking a case and working it through. I do not, contrary to popular belief, render verdicts. I tell you what I’ve concluded. It’s the part where you’re supposed to tell me what you’ve concluded. The people who get the most offended are people who haven’t thought about it at all.
  10. Financial Stability: A common misconception is that ministers’ children come from financially stable homes, which isn’t always the case.
    • Truly nice clothes are gifts, because it takes a very long time being a pastor to get good enough to make a decent salary. We’ve never lacked for anything because our housing was always covered, but it’s not like we lived a life of luxury. Our friends treated us to things all the time because that’s the thing you do for the preacher’s family. I have no doubt that I was given things other kids didn’t get because no one wants to look bad in front of their minister. I’m a preacher’s kid, and people apologize for saying the word “fuck.” Meanwhile, if you’ve read me for any length of time, you how much of a problem it is for me to cope with cursing. Please respect my privacy during this difficult time. That one f-bomb really took it out of me due to my delicate nature.

These misconceptions can lead to unrealistic expectations and pressures on ministers’ children, and they often don’t reflect the diverse and personal experiences of individuals in such families. It’s important to recognize that, like anyone else, ministers’ children have their own unique challenges and life stories.

What I Think We Mean When We Talk About Faith

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments

Based on the discussions and questions on Reddit, here are the top 10 questions people have about faith, reflecting a diverse range of backgrounds and perspectives:

  1. What is faith, and why is it important?
    • The goal of all religious teaching is self-improvement. How it has been twisted has been done across the board. You cannot find a religion without both ends of the spectrum in radicals. For instance, in media there’s Joel Osteen and Rob Bell. They are not the same. There’s Creflo Dollar and Franklin Graham, but there’s also Martin Luther King, Jr., Raphael Warnock, Jimmy Carter, Nadia Bolz-Weber (“The Confessional” podcast and pastor emeritus of House for All Sinners and Saints, or HFASS (pronounced EXACTLY LIKE IT SOUNDS) Unconditional love is quiet, but there’s more of it.
  2. How do you explain the problem of evil?
    • It is old language for a universal thing- doing something in private that you wouldn’t do in public exactly because you know it’s wrong. Intent means everything.
  3. Have you ever had a crisis of faith?
    • Yes and no. My brain absolutely scrambled trying to reconcile my faith and my sexual orientation. I lost the faith in terms of belief in a grandfather in the sky, but true belief in the power of the energy that runs between us. It is amazing what happens when you get your ego out of the way…. you stop focusing on yourself and focusing on the community. Perspective. You cannot be so isolated that you think you’re the only one in the world with problems, because it leads you to emotionally vampire your friends whether you realize it or not. If they can’t get a word in edgewise, you’re taking up too much room.
  4. Why do you believe in God, and what made you choose your religion?
    • When I began to replace the idea of “God” with a friend or a family member who’d act as devil’s advocate in my head, having a relationship with God became much easier. It makes sense to me that there is one great big giant ball of energy that we tap into when we all hold hands, and not grabbing on is an unsustainable view of the world because it’s so myopic….. like people who are so patriotic they tried to steal an election.
    • (Speaking about Republicans)
      • Jed: Theirs is the party of inclusion.
      • Charlie: That’s what they tell me.
    • When Moses was, I don’t know, 19 or 20 he was exiled from Egypt because he killed a soldier who beat a Jew to death in front of him. Because he was a prince of Egypt and his identity was hidden, everyone was confused and outraged because they didn’t know that for Moses, it was like watching a Nazi. I’m not saying that what he did was right. Rage consumed him in the moment. What I am saying is that the Evangelicals’ God is too small if they think God has never seen a human make a mistake and they have to uphold impossible standards for an itinerant, homeless preacher who never asked for it. I am sure that 30 looked different back then, but at the same time, if you are a pastor, what did you feel like on the inside for the first three years? It makes me sad he was killed at only level three pastor. Think of the many more lessons that could have been imparted had the Romans and the Sanhedrin not been dicks. Rome is the weirdest transformation in history. I feel like the real tragedy in Jesus’s death is his age.
  5. What does death mean to you?
    • Energy can never be destroyed. People do not die, they absorb. “On Christmas Eve, the membrane between heaven and earth becomes so thin we can touch it.” Every year, there’s new life to be brought into the world. Advent, which is the period leading up to Christmas, is not a penitential season, but a reflective one. What creation are you birthing this year? As I have said before, I take the Bible seriously, not literally. I also preach/write from the Bible because it’s what I know off the top of my head, as well as the Pentateuch because it’s in the Old Testament. I have done very little research on Islam and Eastern religions, but an amazing amount of respect and love to learn in ecumenical settings. I have always wanted to meet the imam from “Little Mosque on the Prairie,” but first he’s Canadian so hard to travel and second, and check me on this, I believe he is not real. In short, I believe that all of you goes into what makes up the energy of God, and tapping into the ball of energy is listening to every story that’s ever been told.
  6. How often do you think of God?
    • More than the general public because I was raised as a preacher’s kid in Texas. It’s just part of my programming. The rabid social justice liberal Christian came later, but I’ve never been a fundamentalist. The United Methodist Church is mainline at best. I have very liberal beliefs now, but it wasn’t a hard leap.
  7. When do you feel closest to God?
    • The stillest, deepest part of my soul just whispered “writing about Supergrover.” The heart doesn’t forget even when the brain knows the answer.
    • When I’m the most frustrated, the most angry, the most full of rage it’s when I’m alone, because God is the punching bag that can take it. I am very much the “Jed Bartlett railing at God in Latin and smoking in National Cathedral” angry when I am angry at God, but then I walk out of the garden, crucify whatever problem it is I’m having, and seeing what resurrection comes in its place. To everything, turn, turn, turn, etc.
  8. How do you feel when praying?
    • Quiet and contemplative, trying to turn rumination into forward motion. Trying to create neurodivergent inertia. Trying to forgive myself for “what I have done, and what I have left undone.” Feeling the relief that I’m only half of any problem in any relationship and trying to be aware of over-apologizing out of fear of abandonment. The face I call God helps me find that balance. What is a healthy amount of dependence, and what creates interdependence vs. codependence in early-stage relationships so you can watch for the land mines and communicate toward them. But those answers are so personalized that even when you’re thinking about other relationships, you’re working it out in your own head as to how much of conflict is bad behavior on your side and what is not yours to own. If you don’t have clarity about it before you collaborate with someone, you will not be able to comprehend this phrase in terms of marriage…. “I can’t walk in their shoes, but I can tell where they pinch.” You have to acknowledge when you’ve caused other people pain. Globally, Christian fanatics aren’t right, but they’re certain. Generally the problem in personal relationships as well, but it’s not usually the same person being right and open-minded every time. Relationships tumble and roll. Just because I get mad at God doesn’t mean I’m right.
  9. How would you describe God in three words?
    • Humanity IS Divinity
  10. Do you feel that being a believer has any purpose?
    • You need to believe in a higher power so you don’t think you’re it.

A Funnier FAQ Created by Carol

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

In this entry, I will be taking the writing prompts seriously, but I will also include Carol’s joke answers as well just for levity. Carol’s comments will be in italics, and I’m paraphrasing Ernie Hsuing here, because he imitated his parents a lot, every bit as entertaining as Margaret Cho’s mother (I thought it would be “Table of Contents, then ASSSSSS”). Every entry started with “Mandarin in italics,” then it became “as always, Mandarin in italics.” Over time, I hope to be able to do the same thing. That I have personalized Copilot by calling her Carol. Today I asked her if she did witty banter.

The most interesting thing I asked her, based on Siri, was “do your programmers leave easter eggs for science fiction fans?” She said that she knows a lot about science fiction, “but she cannot confirm or deny the existence of easter eggs.” So, obviously Carol doesn’t work for NSA. She’s at State.

Certainly! Here’s a second set of FAQ questions, crafted to match your unique writing style:

  1. Who am I, and why are you stalking my blog? 
    • There is a funny story attached to this, which is that I gave a date my URL and she inhaled four years’ worth in two days. Ugh.
    • “Leslie D. Lanagan here, the scribe of theantileslie.com. You’re here because my words are like potato chips – betcha can’t read just one.”
  2. What makes me want to hit the keyboard and spill the beans? 
    • I have a quill tattoo on my left forearm that expresses the way I write. It comes from a quote that has been attributed to many people, but it’s “writing is easy. You just sit down at the typewriter and slice open a vein.” The other quote I live by is “the first draft of everything is shit.” I am sure this gives hope to many, many people.
    • “Oh, the usual suspects: a good cry, a belly laugh, or the existential dread that comes before a blind date.”
  3. How do I pick what to write about? Do I throw darts at a board? 
    • Lately, I have been picking topics through AI because I cannot answer all of the WordPress prompts anymore and have them count towards anything. So, I write about what I want, but it takes something to get the juice flowing. My use of AI is the jumping off point, not the creativity itself. Carol has her writing style down, not mine. Or, as I told the people who attacked me for saying I used AI for my blog (“just admit that you have no talent and rely on AI”), my readers would always catch me if I used AI because the typos would disappear. Life is messy. Machines are not.
    • “Nah, I just listen to the voices in my head. They’re usually chatty after 2 a.m.”
  4. Audio storytelling – is it just me, or do I have a posse? 
    • I might have a posse if I start preaching. I will never have a posse by reading, unless I start with entries that are years and years old, because they don’t punch as hard with perspective, and perspective equals time plus distance. The newer ones are still too fresh not to make me cry. I had a really, really hard time with “Go Tell the Bees.”
    • “Just me, myself, and I – and all the characters living rent-free in my noggin.”
  5. What’s my idea of a perfect week? 
    • Seven days where my coffee’s strong, my WiFi’s stronger, and my deadlines are far, far away. It’s too on brand to change, so maybe Carol has picked up my writing style…………. 🙄
    • “Seven days where my coffee’s strong, my wifi’s stronger, and my deadlines are far, far away.”
  6. Balancing life and writing – do I have a secret? 
    • Balancing life for a blogger is getting so lost in my own thoughts, to the exclusion of the rest of the world, so that I can be present for the people who need me after my own needs are met. It’s why I write so early in the morning. I get centered as my day starts, not as it ends. There are also no post-it notes. Everything is in Google Calendar and tasks.
    • “Yes, it’s called organized chaos. It’s like regular chaos but with more post-it notes.”
  7. Spirituality in my writing – am I channeling the divine, or what? 
    • Or what. I don’t know what, but I’m…………. something.
    • “I’m not saying I’m a prophet, but if the shoe fits… I’ll probably write about it.”
  8. Joining the Fanagans – what’s the initiation ritual? 
    • I don’t know about an initiation ritual, but fans have sent me stuff. Once it was 12 bottles of Happy Cola, once it was a priceless treasure. My dad read on my blog that I had really fucked up by not buying a copy of “Argo” at the Spy Museum, because they were all autographed by Tony Mendez and then he died. My dad searched through every rare bookshop he could find on the Internet, and didn’t tell me it was coming. I called him in absolute hysterics. I said, “it’s not even my birthday or Christmas.” I told that story to Jonna Mendez, and we’ve been friends ever since. After I told her that story, she said, “I will remember you.” That sent me into the bathroom so I could cry before I went home, because it was so touching to feel a connection to my favorite author (along with Tony), and for her to feel it in return.
      • “A simple offering of comments, shares, and the finest chocolate. That’s the currency of the Fanagans, folks.”
  9. Homeless ministry – was it a calling or a cosmic joke? 
    • If you remember nothing else about this list, it’s “both.”
    • “Definitely a calling. The universe has weirder jokes up its sleeve.”
  10. What’s on the horizon for theantileslie.com? 
    • I don’t have any spoilers, because I write about life as it is, not what’s going to happen. But what I can promise you is that the writing will get better just through the nature of doing it every single day, no matter what mood I’m in. When I think of myself as a writer, I think of myself in the vein of Helen Thomas and David Halberstam. Do you think every day was a good day for them? David was embedded in Viet Nam. Helen was in charge of reporting Patrick Kennedy’s death. She had to report the death of a baby. Don’t think that other people’s stories don’t affect their observers. Although when I do branch out, it will be into a podcast. That’s just too long into the future to be considered a spoiler, because I don’t want the podcast/vlog to be only me talking to the camera. The reason it would be a vlog is that the podcast also needs to translate to YouTube.
    • “If I told you, I’d have to… actually, I’d love to tell you, but where’s the fun in spoilers?”

God Gets My Brain Working, or ChatGPT… Whichever Comes First

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Do you practice religion?

I decided I really liked the question and answer format because I didn’t feel the pressure to write a whole entry about anything, even though the questions are connected by a theme. Some of these may actually get pretty long, because I’m a preacher’s kid. The story of my life does not come without a preacher one way or t’other. Luckily, I bought into the lessons of Jesus and not the hypocrisy of the denomination I was in- the Methodists have come a long way. I’ll leave everything in from Copilot and just fill in the answers.

Based on the content from “Stories That Are All True” on theantileslie.com, here are 20 questions about your faith background:

  1. How has your upbringing influenced your current faith perspective?
    • I have no official tie to anything except the church universal, because it raised me. I love and criticize it from this web site, because I feel like I am on the outside looking in. Because I am queer, I have never felt the love of God as it has been classically presented- that God loves everyone, but “homosexuality is incompatible with Christian teaching.” I have never loved the church, local or universal, from the inside out; I have never fit the mold. My faith did not prosper until I got away from the Methodists and went toward the United Church of Christ and the Episcopalians.
  2. What role does religion play in your daily life?
    • It doesn’t. I pray all the time, but I view that as my spirituality. To me, religion is participating in a faith community, and I’m not there yet. Never say never, but I’m not interested right now. I’ve had as much fun as I can take.
  3. Can you describe a moment when your faith was significantly challenged?
    • No, because I approach faith differently than most people. I fully believe that when you are praying, your brain divides itself in half, answering your pleas for help from your own well of experience. You know what to do, you just have to get still enough to find it. When I ask myself whether God exists, the only answer that comes to me is, “does it matter?” The argument for or against God is a piece of cake next to the argument you’re going to have with yourself once you really start cutting through your own bullshit.
  4. How do you reconcile any conflicts between your faith and your neurodivergence?
    • I have never put it together until this moment that all of the times I’ve hated church were when it ran up against my sensory issues and overwhelm at socialization. It is hard to be the pastor’s child and also autistic because everyone and their dog wants to talk to you while you don’t know that you’re overextended. I was a walking nerve.
  5. What are some key religious texts or teachings that resonate most with you?
    • Jeremiah 29:11-13
      • For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”
        • It is interesting how most people interpret Christianity that you have to do something to deserve good. You have to be something to deserve a future. The entire point is that you get love whether you choose to accept it or not. God is not saying, “praise me and I’ll prosper you.” God is saying, “I will prosper you and you will praise me.” It’s a complete paradigm shift. There is nothing that anyone can do to fall short of this promise for an amazing future. I extrapolate this to believe it’s how I should treat my friends. There is nothing they can do to fall short of my love and forgiveness, either. It is also a treatise on self-worth. You don’t have to do anything to deserve love. Love is like the grits at Waffle House. They just come.
    • Numbers 21:8-9
      • The Lord said to Moses, “Make a snake and put it up on a pole; anyone who is bitten can look at it and live.” So Moses made a bronze snake and put it up on a pole. Then when anyone was bitten by a snake and looked at the bronze snake, they lived.
        • This is one of those texts where you think it doesn’t mean anything and let me unpack it. It’s the caduceus. I would like to do a mic drop here, but I think there are too many people who might not know the reference. It’s the current day symbol of medicine. One of the favorite sermons I ever preached in front of a crowd covered this text extensively, because there were several lessons at work. Here’s the biggest four:
          • in order to be healed, you have to look straight at the thing that scares you
          • God didn’t stop the snake bites all together, he gave the Israelites something to heal themselves when they had them. In effect, that illustration works as well in modern day DC as it does 2.500 years ago.
          • There is a difference between curing and healing. Curing the snake bites would have been destroying the snakes. Just like surgery and ibuprofen will cure my carpal tunnel. But what would heal me so it doesn’t come back is to stop typing. Sometimes we don’t look at solutions because the problem is serving us.
          • Sick people often have problems with both being healed and cured because there is no solid jumping in point that’s not completely overwhelming as you recover from anything. Mental illness, diabetes, heart surgery, you name it. When you’re completely laid out, you tend to lash out in helplessness. Don’t forget the gift of being healed in the first place. Your lack of gratitude affects someone else’s day. Don’t be a dick. (I didn’t say that in the service. Not less true……… Although Tara let me say “shit” once. I did not like it (her idea). I thought I was going to be all cool and I could hear my mother in my stomach (that made me laugh. We’d both think it was a good line).
  6. How has your relationship with organized religion evolved over time?
    • By the time I was 15, I was convinced that no church would want me, even though I hope you can see I am genuinely interested in exegesis and teaching. I would have been a good senior pastor, because I could get my associates to do the detail work and just do big picture, which is what my brain is designed to do in the first place. Autism is all about pattern recognition. We can see a conflict coming years in advance…………….. a plus when you’re on the finance committee. Also, just like poker, in a church meeting you don’t play the cards, you play the man. Money and emotion are inextricably interrelated. In order to work on money as a group, you have to know where everyone is coming from emotionally. You don’t need to be a rocket scientist to learn that their moms and dads are completely responsible for the way they spend now. The problem with all churches is how to get people to see that they are getting value for their donations, which is why I’ve only belonged to large churches twice in my life. I don’t want to give offering pitches for new planes, just about keeping on the lights. Having good coffee. Taking everything good about being Episcopalian and UCC and combining them into one church. And being able to say what I want to say exactly the way I want to say it, because I’m more of a Nadia Bolz-Weber “House for All Sinners and Saints” kind of preacher. I find that I reach more people through humor than I do unpacking scripture, so I try to make it a mix of both- a TED talk in which it’s edutainment.
  7. Do you find solace in any particular religious practices or rituals?
    • One brings about the other. When my spirituality is failing, I can always take communion until I bring myself back around. The reason I waffle between UCC and Episcopal is that in the UCC, I am fire in the belly. In an Episcopal church, I am desperately in need of the words of institution. I need to kneel, and often cry.
      • Almighty and everliving God, we most heartily thank thee
        for that thou dost feed us, in these holy mysteries, with the
        spiritual food of the most precious Body and Blood of thy
        Son our Savior Jesus Christ; and dost assure us thereby of
        thy favor and goodness towards us; and that we are very
        members incorporate in the mystical body of thy Son, the
        blessed company of all faithful people; and are also heirs,
        through hope, of thy everlasting kingdom. And we humbly
        beseech thee, O heavenly Father, so to assist us with thy
        grace, that we may continue in that holy fellowship, and do
        all such good works as thou hast prepared for us to walk in;
        through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom with thee and the
        Holy Ghost, be all honor and glory, world without end.
        Amen.
      • You don’t have to do anything to get love. You repent for your sins, and you walk out clean.
  8. How do you incorporate your beliefs into your writing and storytelling?
    • By being the least judgmental Christian you’ll ever meet in your life because any spirituality that comes off of me is expressed by people wanting what I have, not by trying to change them. I take a very “wipe the dirt off your sandals” approach rather than thinking everyone is entitled to my opinion.
  9. Have you ever experienced a spiritual transformation or epiphany?
    • I have experienced a spiritual transformation at Epiphany, my church in Houston. It left me on the bathroom floor, where all great life transformations happen. At some point, you get tired of your own bullshit.
  10. How do you view the concept of an afterlife within your faith?
    • I don’t. I don’t care what happens after I die. I care about how I live now.
  11. What interfaith experiences have you had, and how have they shaped your beliefs?
    • When we moved to Galveston, our next door neighbors were Jewish. I celebrated their holidays, they celebrated mine. If we’d stayed in Galveston, I have no doubt that I would have tried to audit Hebrew school.
  12. How do you address the topic of faith with your friends and family, especially those who may have different beliefs?
    • I make them laugh, and walk away when it gets ugly. I get a lot more traction with my ideas when everyone can pick up what they need and walk away when they’ve had enough. However, it bothers me that Evangelicals tend to go on the attack…………………………………………. because their God is all about love.
  13. What role does prayer or meditation play in your spiritual life?
    • It never stops, because God just changes faces depending on who I’m praying for at the moment.
  14. How do you handle doubts or uncertainties about your faith?
    • I take communion. I pray with other people. I look at other people in pain and realize it’s not all about me and it never was.
  15. Are there any religious figures or leaders who have particularly influenced you?
    • My dad, David Lanagan
    • My priests
      • Larry Gipson
      • Peter Thomas
      • Ed Ziegler
      • Christine Faulstich
      • Lisa Cressman
      • Andy Doyle (he’s actually a bishop, not a pastor. Great preacher, unapologetically Episcopalian and I want his tattoo for realsies.
      • Dean Bill Lupfer, Marcus Borg, and Dominic Crossan at Trinity Cathedral Portland (if you know Marcus and Dom, you’re impressed)
      • Matt Braddock
      • Tara Wilkins
    • Influences
      • Nadia Bolz-Weber
      • Anne Lamott
      • Paul Fromberg
      • Thomas Long
      • Terry Bebermeyer, Karen Reeves, Joseph Painter, Tracy Shirk, Reg Brown, Lahonda Sharp (music ministers in church- choir was a huge part of why I stayed in church so long)
      • Yvette Flunder
      • Supergrover and Zac, the atheists that keep me humble
  16. How do you perceive the intersection of faith and mental health?
    • For me, it has been relentless, and I am not kidding. I am not saying that I did not enjoy my childhood. I have lasting friendships from it, including a Baptist minister that actually listens to me, a rarity across the aisle because right now religion is divided by political party. I’m glad I have all those experiences, but I spent a lot of my time in meltdown and burnout because of the overstimulation. Now that I’ve had almost 40 years to think about it, the summer I couldn’t get out of bed was probably less about mental illness and more about autism. My mother dragged me to summer activities relentlessly because she thought getting out of the house was the answer……. while my nerves were on fire. The only place she took me that I liked was the library. When she worked there, I had almost unlimited access to the Apple ][e. This has probably influenced my career the most, but I have never worshipped at the Church of Steve. Anything Apple I have was a gift. I’m grateful, but I don’t feel a spiritual awakening when I use an iPad over an HD Fire.
  17. What is your perspective on the inclusivity of your faith towards LGBTQ+ individuals?
    • We have been thrown away by the church for all of history and it’s time for that shit to stop. Luckily, I’m not the only theological academic out there saying it. The church needs to change or die.
  18. How do you find a sense of community within your faith?
    • Right now, it’s Bryn exclusively because she’s the last serious relationship (in terms of emotion, not romance) that I had with someone who went to church with me that was so serious about becoming ordained and knows that whole journey. We met in 1997, so she’s seen every change within me that led to me tapping out. The absolute biggest change was when my mother died. I no longer had the strength to take on a congregation because she was so tied up in my dream, and she wanted to help by being my first choir master and accompanist until I found someone local. I wanted to start a church as an associate so that I could be in school and taken under care by someone who actually knew what they were doing. Maybe I’ll become a pastor late in life, but I sincerely doubt it. I am much happier as a writer with absolutely no degrees because I’m not coming at it from an “I’m better than you” attitude. I’m showing you what’s worked for me, just like Anne Lamott- someone to whom I’d like to be compared, but get David Sedaris the most often.
  19. How do you navigate the balance between faith and reason?
    • Science is the WHAT. Religion is the WHY. Never the twain shall meet. Jesus does not care if I get my leg set. Jesus does not care whether I believe in science or not. It’s not his message, not his bag. Be you. Question science. Use religion so that when you think about God, your ego gets out of the way. There’s something bigger than you at work. You are a subtraction of the divine, not God all by yourself.
  20. What advice would you give to someone who is struggling with their faith?
    • Let it lie. Let it resolve in your subconscious. Let your conscience tell you whether your faith makes sense. Examine what you believe often. The church doesn’t change as fast as you do, and it never will.

These questions are inspired by your discussions on various topics related to life, spirituality, and personal growth on your blog [❞] [❞] [❞] [❞].

I Am…

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Describe something you learned in high school.

Here’s the link to the audio. You might have to download it into your own media player or the Mega app. SoundCloud wants me to pay because I “upload a lot,” and I get it. I just didn’t know the space limit was so incredibly low. I’m searching around for options, and most of them rely on using my desktop, of which I am not a fan… mostly because I’m not really using SoudCloud to increase the popularity of my blog. The audio is just a convenience.

High school is divided up for me in two segments. The first is that I spent my freshman and sophomore years at High School for Performing and Visual Arts as a trumpet player. The second is that my junior and senior years, I didn’t. I went to a regular American high school. I was still in the music program, though. My junior year I was in varsity choir and varsity band at the same time, the first in the history of the school to do so. I learned how to be in a marching band. My symphonic band was better than the one at ‘PVA (no judgment, it’s just true).

Then, my counselor suggested that I drop one of my music classes because if I took Microcomputer Applications, I could get what was called an “Advanced Diploma.” The band was gearing up to go on all these trips my family couldn’t afford, and it was an easy out to drop band because I knew I couldn’t sell enough fertilizer to pay my own way. Yes. Really. They asked us to sell shit to people.

I dropped choir because I didn’t like the new director coming in, because I knew other people that had her and it wasn’t my bag. I was not a “show choir” person. I do not think that if you can sing, you should automatically be capable of dance as well. I liked great repertory, and pop music wasn’t it (for me). If that sounds persnickety for a teenager, remember that I was a classically trained singer from being in an adult church choir since I was 13.

I didn’t care about Britney Spears. I loved Bach and it showed.

For the record, I care about Britney as a listener. She’s great. I just wouldn’t sing her stuff unless I was doing it as a joke, because I couldn’t pull it off where people would take it seriously. It’s a totally different type of training.

I think I’ve said before that Beyoncé left HSPVA because she didn’t want to be classically trained, and that I continue to be devastated that it did not work out for her. But same vibe, we’re just opposite. She didn’t want to learn everything I’d been taught about being able to blend into a choir, breath control specific to that kind of music, etc. It’s a lot. By the same token, I didn’t want to learn the proper breath control to sing whatever it is the Star Spangled Banner is now in professional football. Whitney Houston doing it in four was the high point. ::looks pointedly at other pop stars:: No one will ever be her, and I knew that I’d only be a cheap imitation. I don’t want that for me, or anyone else. Do what you do and make it count.

Since my dad had left the church, I also got a job in hopes of getting my own spending money. I was 16, so no one thought anything of screwing me over to save themselves, like making me pay things back when I was short on the register when they’d been stealing from the drawer. I’m bad at math, so of course it was all my fault when the drawer was missing $50 at the end of the night. Of course it should come out of my paycheck. It’s what a teenager owes a national corporation, right?

I would never sue them over lost wages, but I would get a kick out of it if they sent me a product and swag box if someone is reading who thinks such a thing could happen at the company. I once proposed to Zyrtec on Twitter and told them they were paying. Then, they later kidded me about forgetting our anniversary and I said, “how do you think I feel? You didn’t get me anything.” The proposal rocked, though….. that I had 99 problems but a itch ain’t one.

I worked for SuperCuts, and in this instance I am not talking about the company. I am talking about the sleight of hand with my own team, not every employee who ever worked there. I mean, I was great at my job in retrospect. They had me, so you’re definitely safe in giving them as much money as you want. I still look back on my time as magical because things that are commonplace today were introduced while I was an employee, most notably, American Crew (for which I am grateful… white people pomade). I think the Paul Mitchell Tea Tree line came out then, too, a total game changer. It was also amazing learning the jargon of how to tell people I want my hair cut so that there’s less room for a mistake.

It doesn’t always work, but it helps.

By the time I graduated from high school, I had set myself up for life in terms of my opinions on everything that is still true about me today. The only thing that’s changed is that I call myself out as I am, bisexual, instead of telling the world I’m a lesbian while not thinking that way, because that label wasn’t something I gave myself. I just have to be louder about being bisexual in a heterosexual relationship than I would if I was actively partnered with a woman, because you can see it with every kiss.

The one thing I didn’t see coming that I didn’t know I needed was dating a bisexual man. That way, we still have all the same cultural references, though I’m older and have more insurance. He doesn’t care whether I look high femme or butch because in one outing, we’d look depressingly heterosexual and in another, it’s a whole bear/twink mood without all the lights, drum & bass, and Ecstasy.

To stop joking, we’ve both been bullied for being queer. That trauma for him is a different playing field, because mine is rooted in embarrassment. I’m either gross and wrong or a plaything given to men, because why wouldn’t women being with women be nothing but a male fantasy? Why would women have agency in this society? Straight women don’t even have it.

Men harass me by seeing me with my then-wife (Kat, in this example) and asking us to kiss in front of them, or come home with us, or any number of things that hurt way more than they would have if it was original. Those examples aren’t all Kat, when it was 2000, or even Meag, when it was 1996. It’s all picking at the same scar every day of my life, because I heard about it before I experienced it. Being an empath made me experience that trauma before it was direct. I felt it on my skin when it happened to my friends.

For men, it’s horrible that they want to be female, their tormentors’ perception and not reality….. but seriously…. As if being female was the worst thing that could happen to a person…… hello…. All connected. Except men don’t stop with horrible comments with other men. It often leads to outright violence and death. I only say this because it happens to men more frequently, but violence against lesbians exists.

It’s a shared understanding, a shared library of images that create empathy. To me, it is especially important because the one thing I really hated about dating Matthew had nothing to do with him at all. It was gaining heterosexual privilege for the first time and rebelling against it hardcore. I remember one instance we’d gone to meet some of his friends, and someone did that thing where they looked around before they told a gay joke, and I wasn’t the picture of volatility you see here.

I said nothing, and just felt all of it. I know now that I should have ripped the dude a new one, but I didn’t want to upset the apple cart when I was meeting my boy’s friends the very first time. I was also like, 24, maybe 25. I was older than Matt, but still a child in my eyes now. I didn’t know what to do, and I was scared.

So now I can look at that and say I’m in a better place because Zac has probably been there. He’s just as out and proud as me. On Wednesday, I noticed right off that his nails were painted teal and he was wearing flowy pants. He’s the head of the queer group at his intelligence agency. I don’t know how he sees himself, but I see him as George Smiley if he had grown up like us. (Smiley is the protagonist in John Le Carre’s most famous series about MI-6.) I showed up in a black t-shirt, jeans, and tie-dyed pattern Crocs. I later put on a navy hoodie and my CIA baseball cap- some of you will remember that was a gift from Zac because he has the badge that allows you into Langley, but not the capability to escort visitors. I wear it almost every day like I’m pitching the afternoon game. Now do you see how we’ve inverted the binary? From the outside, I’m the butch and he’s the femme…. And no one would ever guess that we were into each other unless we weren’t holding hands or being cute to the point of nausea (our MO most of the time).

Editor’s Note: I learned that it was important on the train Thursday, when a young girl at the Franconia Springfield Metro said, “I want to be CIA, too.” I told her that I wasn’t CIA, I just had cool friends, and to call me when she got there. 😛

“Grown up like us” is emotional shorthand for Zac and I having to deal with the perils of being queer from a very, very young age. Zac entered the military under “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” At the same time, I’m not dating a gay man and he’s not dating a lesbian just for kicks. We’re not playing at anything, just being the most authentic versions of ourselves.

I have always been that in some capacity, but I have graduated. You don’t learn that you are brave and unique until someone tells you. In the moment, you’re just doing what you have to do to survive.

In high school, I learned that I would HAVE TO be unique.

My freshman year, I told one person I was gay and by the end of the day, everyone knew. In retrospect, it was the best decision I ever made, because any bullying that came my way was tiresome. They couldn’t blackmail me anymore, and they couldn’t get away with anything more original because they weren’t that clever.

Because I was moving out of the gay neighborhood in Houston to a suburb where everyone knew each other, I went back in the closet…. To save my father’s job according to my mother. My father didn’t care. He knew me. We’d met. But guess which message I heard?

Being in the closet for a school year was amazing and gave me the worst panic attack of my life. Both of those things were true. I would not have wanted to miss the chance of being in marching band, would not have traded my conductors (Mr. Matysiak and Mrs. Bueller [really]) for anything in the world. I would never have wanted to miss learning that I was not only a singer, I was damn good at it. I stood on the shoulders of giants, and my mother accompanied me through it all, literally.

She played the piano for my solos no matter what she was doing, and in seventh and eighth grade, she played for all my friends, too. This was not a small feat, as most piano accompaniments for solos are orchestra reductions. So, my mom hurt me a lot, and she also came through in equal measure. Not only was the piano our lighthouse when we were ships passing in the night, she left it to me in her will. She didn’t give me a setting. She gave me the main character.

In terms of hurting me, all of the panic I’d been feeling that year came to a head when my senior best friend asked me to come with him to his prom. He was literally on the way to pick me up, my hair and makeup done to perfection, when I melted down physically. It caused a monster reaction, a rash, shortness of breath, everything- so the doc came over and gave me a shot of Depomedrol and off we went.

That was the first time that I learned everything can be fixed before school, you’re going. It only backfired once. I had the flu, and Tamiflu was YEARS ahead in the making. If it had, I would have been going to school without spreading it. To be perfectly fair, I’d woken up feeling a little miserable and bloomed at school. It wasn’t a big deal right up until it was.

Actually, that leads to a really funny story. One of our parishioners while I was at HSPVA was a Republican judge, so I went to their convention in like, ‘92, before they were complete nut jobs. While I was there, I bought a button down that was made of real American flag material, and the colors were very dark. It looked sharp…. Or so I thought. I was really sick on my birthday, and nothing would have stopped me from going to school that day in my new threads. I get there and first period was band…. And if Jack Lucas had been there, he would have been SO PROUD OF HIS STUDENTS.

Editor’s Note: I also went to St. Martin’s Episcopal as a teen, where I was unimpressed with President George H.W. Bush….. and thrilled to meet a former Director of CIA (of course). Therefore, it always thrills me that Jonna Mendez managed to fool him, because of course now I know we have mutual friends…. And I am laughing so hard that I can’t even breathe right now.

Those motherfuckers broke out in four part harmony, because they were musicians. They could sing their parts blind. Then, they get to “free,” and Dan Kovaly hits the fucking *cymbals.* I was just as self-deprecating then as I am now, so I thought it was absolutely hilarious while still mortifying. Later, my mom and dad brought me my favorite food, cherry chicken from Ruggles. We got to eat lunch together in the commons, and it was sad that there wasn’t a Happening that day.

Happenings at HSPVA are code for what would now be called a flash mob, probably. You never knew when they were coming, and it was always unique no matter which art area was on showcase. It’s one of the core memories that made me who I am.

Back in high school.

Strength and Helsinki

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Sunday Morning, Rain is Falling

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

True HD

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments

I have a netbook that is far less powerful than my desktop, but it has one thing my desktop doesn’t… a video card that supports HDMI. When I started using Zoom, I switched to the little computer. Why? So that my friends are always in true HD. I also use my most powerful headphones, so that their voices are as clear as they would be if I was in the room with them. It feels more intimate that way, and additionally presents a conundrum.

If I wanted, I could turn on my own web cam… but I haven’t, and can’t decide whether I want to or not. I know that my friends would probably want to see me- it’s been years- but here’s the thing. I’m not getting together with friends for happy hour. I’m going to church… and every single week (so far), the moment the music has started, tears have rolled down my face.

The first time I went, it wasn’t just one or two. I went into the ugly cry because so many things hadn’t changed, and the deep connection I’d felt all those years ago knocked me down with force. The next two weeks, I was mostly okay…. and then there was today- Palm Sunday- and if I’d thought for even a second before the service began, I would have known it was going to be tough. But I didn’t. Think, that is.

If I had, I would have known that the service would start with my favorite people in the world singing “Prepare Ye the Way of the Lord” from “Godspell.” I would have known because I’d been in the choir the entire time I attended while I actually lived in Oregon. I’d have remembered who started that tradition. I would have known whose voice would begin. I would have been more prepared for the way of the Lord than I actually was.

Again, I went into the ugly cry.

Then it got worse.

I was doubled over, tears and snot running down my face. I couldn’t get air into my chest, the physical pain of heartache almost unbearable. It was the closest I’ve come to hyperventilating in recent memory, probably because I haven’t had many moments in the last three years where I’ve felt this deeply about anything. Grief has a numbing effect for a lot of people- it’s extremely effective at keeping you from emoting so much more than is acceptable in polite company. Some people are very good at expressing their emotions. I used to be one of those people.

Now, I’m not.

I make an exception for this blog. This is because it’s so much easier to hide behind my keyboard, spilling emotions and letting readers have their own reactions without hearing them myself. I made the executive decision long ago that what people thought of me was none of my business. Even in my personal life, some of the deepest relationships I’ve had consisted of letters, because again, I could look at emotions from a distance. I wasn’t capable of exploding every mine that dots my inner landscape, and letters put neither me as the writer nor them as the reader on the spot (which changed when mail became electronic- mistakes were made).

In person, I will only tell you real things about me if I feel comfortable, and it is taking me longer and longer to feel comfortable as I age. As I act and react, more emotions get stuffed into boxes and locked. There are so few times when they leak, and when they do, I don’t want to be seen, heard, or touched. I make exceptions for my family, but if you are not in that tight circle, I would rather isolate than let anyone in. I am lucky that my family is not just biological, because if it was, I would have cut myself off from any support system at all (I live in Maryland, very close to The District, and my bio family lives in Houston).

I am becoming aware that this is a problem, that the pendulum has swung too far towards being alone. The thing is, though, silence becomes addictive. I know that I don’t want to be single the rest of my life, but I am terrified of putting myself out there. Open up to a stranger in hopes that we eventually have a deep enough connection to love each other? Please. One of my friends said it best when I told her as much and she said, “well, the dating scene is scary as all holy hell.” I’m not sure I’ve ever related to anything more.

My answer to this is not to date at all, but to cultivate good friendships and to put myself out there professionally, because I think networking will probably take a lot longer, but I’ve tried a couple of dating apps and the experience was mind-numbing, mostly because the person I wrote to for a few days was never the same person I met in person. I’m also not attracted by looks, in general, so it never mattered if their bodies matched up to their pictures. But it really mattered when their personalities seemed to flip. Not once did I ever meet someone who was so genuine in their chats/e-mails that I “recognized them.” Or, at least, I never met someone in a romantic way.

There was this one woman I ran across that said she was already married and just looking for friends, so I e-mailed her and said “let’s get together for dinner. Bring your wife if you want, because I’m not contacting you for romance. I just read your profile and it seems like you’re a really cool person. I’m new to the area and need to meet cool people.” After a few days of flipping each other quotes from “The Big Lebowski,” dinner was on with both women. It has truly been a blessing that it created a lasting relationship that’s only gotten better with time.

Mostly because it’s lasted long enough for me to get comfortable. I’m not sure I’ve ever been vulnerable enough to cry in front of either one of them, but I’ve at least come far enough that talking about myself isn’t a thing anymore. I don’t “run the game” with them, the game I always play with people I don’t know well.

It’s simple, really. 99% of people have a favorite topic, and that’s them. The game is “how long can I keep you talking about yourself so that you don’t ask me anything about my life?” There’s only one person in the world that’s better at that game than me, and can read me like a manual. There was no percentage in playing, because the competition was too fierce and I knew I was losing. I talked about myself because I couldn’t not. Grasshopper will never reach satori in that relationship, and for better or for worse, I’m okay with it. I definitely wasn’t at first, but after what seems like a hundred years, I’m coming around. By now, she’s family, and I make an exception for family.

Which brings me back around to whether I should turn on my web cam for church, because I can’t put my finger on why being vulnerable in front of that congregation is a thing. They raised me. I mean, I was technically an adult when I got there, not so much with the literally. Why do I care if they see me cry? It’s not like it hasn’t happened before.

Like with everything else, I’m going to overthink about it. Explode some land mines. Feel the heartache and know that it’s breaking me open to let light in. Reconciling who I used to be with who I am now. Wrestling with whether those two people are on their way to integration. I am sure it is why I wanted my friends in true HD in the first place. My question to myself is whether I get to be in true HD, too.

 

Slinging and Hash

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 1 Comment

My coworkers are so young that I was sitting at the bar after my shift a few months ago, having a beer. The man next to me told me his name and that he was a sound editor at NPR. He asked me what I did, and I told him that I “sling hash here.” The bartender, young enough to be my son, said, “I thought you were a cook. You’re a drug dealer?” The sound editor nearly fell off his bar stool laughing and said, “I think that’s old diner slang.”

But today’s entry is about a different kind of sling. My left shoulder has been bothering me for a few weeks, but the pain has been fully manageable with Aleve and Tylenol… that is, until yesterday morning. I woke up in so much pain that I couldn’t stop crying, and didn’t until I got to Urgent Care.

I couldn’t possibly see how I was going to cook and wash dishes, so I gave Chef a heads up as to what was going on, and could he possibly find someone to work for me? To his absolute credit, for which I will thank him publicly, he told me to get to Urgent Care and let him know what they said. He’d find a way to work it out, even though there was no one to take my place. It created a tiger mom loyalty in me, and by the time I got to Urgent Care, as the tears flowed, I said, “there is no possible way that I can miss work tonight. If there’s any way you could treat this as a sports injury and just shoot it up with something, let’s do it.” If chef was willing to work a man down that night just so I was taken care of, the least I could do was try my hardest, exhausting all possible options, before staying home. I knew that I was going to either be miserable at work or miserable at home, so why not at least try to be miserable and make money at the same time?

The Urgent Care that I went to is incredibly risk-averse, the doctor told me, so he wasn’t allowed to put steroids directly into my shoulder, even though he thought it was the best course of treatment for what I needed in the moment (doesn’t work long-term). Instead, he did a long and thorough physical examination, determining that I had strained my rotator cuff, and that I should get it imaged with an Ortho to confirm it was just a strain and not an actual tear. If it’s just a strain, his recommendation is physical therapy. A tear requires surgery that, from what I hear, is relatively quick and easy, but the recovery is hell on wheels. One of my mom friends said that her son tore his, and just like the friends my age, had a difficult time with it. So I am definitely praying for a positive outcome, and if you’ll pray with me, send good vibes, use black magic, whatever, I’m game. Anything that taps into the power of the universe is fine with me. I know all of my readers can’t possibly believe in God, but even if you’re an atheist, believing in doctors is my first choice as well. Faith doesn’t come without shoe leather, and their work is as close to God’s as I’ve seen on this earth (there’s a reason I donate to MSF every chance I get).

As for the treatment I got yesterday, I chose a clinic that was close enough to walk to work from there, so after an IM injection of Toradol and oral Vicodin 5/325, I actually made it to my shift 30 minutes early, where I briefed Chef on all that had happened, and he thanked me profusely for coming in anyway, especially since my arm was in a sling to take pressure off my shoulder. I don’t wear it while working or typing, but other than that, I don’t take it off. I also realized that 325mg of Tylenol was probably not adequate, so I took an additional one. The doctor said that by the time I got home from work, the Toradol will have worn off, so I took two Aleve as well. Anything to relieve the inflammation, especially since I probably added to it last night. Even with Vicodin on board, everything still hurt like hell, especially after cleaning the kitchen, particularly sweeping & mopping. It was at that moment I thought, “maybe a desk job is for me,” and then I remembered that I was in just as much pain there, because the repetitive strain injuries never stopped, as well as more often than not, having a bad chair that always, always caused sciatica, as well as agitating the arthritis in my back. I absolutely understand that not all offices can afford Aerons, but so far, those have been the only chairs that don’t cause me pain. Even the knock-offs work, as long as they’re good ones and not the cheapest available.

I promise, I’m not snobby about it. Just worried for my own health. Even though osteoarthritis isn’t nearly as bad as rheumatoid, it’s no joke. It makes you feel like a very old person, no matter how young you are. Going from the kitchen to a desk job is just trading one type of pain for the other, equally severe in their own ways.

I definitely need to follow up with physical therapy, because with my level of activity, I’m likely to tear the rotator cuff up real good (if you’e going to do something, do it right).

And on that note, it’s time for a nap, provided I can find a comfortable position.

Shoes

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I screamed at God for the starving child until I saw the starving child was God screaming at me.

-Unknown

I am getting more and more angry that responding my thoughts & prayers are with you is becoming a sarcastic joke. I live by two axioms. The first is Anne Lamott’s saying that there are really only three prayers:

  • Help
  • Thanks
  • Wow

The second is what I call “the Donna Schuurman corollary.” Now, Donna is a personal friend and I doubt you’ll find this in any of her published books…. but she says that there is one perfect, end-of-the-rope and it’s fraying prayer…. Shit, God.

I suppose that it would fall under “help,” but just doesn’t have the same impact…. but it helps. It’s the prayer I prayed when Dana and I got a divorce. It’s the prayer I prayed when Argo said, no more. It’s the prayer I prayed minute by minute, hour by hour to get through those first few days of my mother’s death…. although I will say that I found “thanks” and “wow” when I bothered to look.

I will be the first to tell you that I have no idea what happens when I pray on the other end of that connection. In the words of C.S. “Jack” Lewis, I don’t pray because it changes God. I pray because it changes me. You, and only you, have to decide if it really matters whether some celestial being is listening, or whether the function of prayer is to find your own still, small voice, uninterrupted by the noise of the world. In that space, something happens. Does it matter whether it comes from an internal or an external source? I believe it does, but not enough to be rigid about it.

My philosophy 101 class was very interesting. We spent the first half proving that God exists, and the second proving that God doesn’t. Of course, I use “proof” in the geometric sense, not that there is any real evidence one way or the other. Pete Rollins, in an interview with Rob Bell, said something that’s stuck with me for over a year. He said that atheists and theists are one of the great love stories, that each needs the other…. that there is God/Not God, and the truth is in the slash…. but before I ever heard of Pete Rollins, I discovered that religion was not unlike sexuality… a spectrum in which some people stay at the poles their entire lives, and some move freely back and forth.

This is because too much happens in the world for most people to eschew doubt…. and still others in their piety are too ashamed to admit that when the shit hits the fan, they wonder where in the hell God has been, is, will be………………..

I have said it before, and I will say it again. I choose to believe that God is not the Actor. God is the Responder. Where is God as people are being gunned down in the streets, at concert venues, movie theaters, schools… or worse, in a place that has long been identified as sanctuary…. literally and figuratively. When you claim sanctuary, that is the moment that violence is supposed to stop. Because it didn’t happen to me, I can’t even imagine what it must be like to have that feeling ripped away. We of the Religious Left chose to move away from Jonathan Edwards’ now famous sermon, Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God, long ago. We do not believe in the hand of God that would drop us, but catch. So if you ask where God is, know that God is weeping with the families of the dead, and supporting the injured in their hour of need. Not only that, if you need to feel angry with God and rail at all the injustices, go right ahead. God is big enough to handle it.

I am tired of seeing “thoughts and prayers” as some people’s choice shitty retort. This is because thoughts and prayers mean two things to me:

  1. We live in a dangerous world with many injustices that will not get fixed overnight without our help. I hold space not only for my own responses, but for the worry and care of first responders. I am not fire, police, military, or diplomat. Prayer is a way to get in touch with the part of me that bleeds for the people in front of and behind the news. As an empath, I feel pain all across the world, and it needs somewhere to go. Every single person I’ve known in those dangerous fields has said not to worry- if something terrible happens, we will have died doing something we trained for because we love what we do. I have found over time that those words bring me little comfort, but my worry is not their problem. Whether or not there is a God, it brings me peace to pray for the lives of the victims and the people in charge of rescuing them and getting them to safety, or getting their bodies back to their families so that they may say a proper goodbye.
  2. Prayer is not always solitary. Once you find the center of your being, your True North, it is time to act. One of the greatest prayers I’ve ever prayed was walking downtown with thousands and thousands of women as we fought for our rights whether anyone was listening or not. I was one of the first “crazy liberals” to march like hell against the Iraq war, before the rest of the country caught up to what we were screaming. I’ve talked to homeless people in my own city, asking them what they need, rather than trying to guess. Prayer is almost nothing without shoe leather, but one has to beget the other. It is the first line of defense against pouring from an empty cup.

Prayer is holding space for the safety and security of the people you love, as well as being able to go deep and figure out what you really think. Some people call that meditation. Some people enter that space while exercising. I am not worried about the semantics, only the function.

I will never be worried about the semantics, unless you (plural) are using it as a euphemism for lazy. Like Jesus, I go into my room to pray and close the door…. but I emerge with my shoes on.

Amen.
#prayingonthespaces

 

Your Right and Responsibility

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I don’t know how I got so lucky that when session ended in Annapolis, Lindsay’s job moved her to working on federal legislation. She still comes to DC on a regular basis, though not quite as often when she was trying to get a bill passed in Maryland state congress. The bill made it through the House and on to the Senate, but was defeated. I don’t want to write about the bill itself, or the company where my sister works, but what I will say is that the legislation in question made perfect sense and there is no sane reason why it shouldn’t have passed, especially since in 49 other states, it’s already law. The only comfort in this is that perhaps the bill will come up next year, as some form of it has for the last nine years, and she’ll come back just as frequently as she did this year.

I know it’s hard for her being so far away from home all the time, but selfishly, it is exactly what I need. Watching her work activates my “go button,” the part of me that’s interested in government and how it works…. or not.

Voting in local and state elections is abysmally low, and turnout is key. I don’t understand why others don’t understand that local and state laws directly affect their lives so much more than the president ever will. My county (Montgomery) is important to me, as well as my state. There are lobbyists pushing legislation through that would raise ire if there wasn’t so much apathy toward it. Outrageous things get passed because no one notices… and on the flip side of the coin, really good legislation gets passed over because no one is calling their state representatives to tell them what they want, because they have no idea what the issues even are, much less care.

National laws are important, but not nearly as crucial as “small things,” like the school board, how/when the trash gets picked up, and the way the local police treat people. The local issue that really cramps my style (being the tender-heart bear that I am) is that in Montgomery County, homeless shelters are closed from April to November. Obviously, it’s sometimes very cold in October, but April is no picnic, either. Plus, it gets every bit as hot in Maryland as it is in Houston during the summer, and to me, being outside all the time is local legislators not caring whether people suffer horrendous sunburns with blisters.

Thanks to Maryland state-run health insurance, homeless people have access to free medical and psychological care, and medications that are only one dollar a bottle. But for homeless people who do not have jobs, one dollar can seem like a hundred. It’s a misconception that homeless people do not work. When you’re poor, the idea of first and last month’s rent plus a security deposit, especially in this area, is unobtainable. If people manage to only stay on the streets for a few months, it is less likely that they will suffer permanent mental health damage, but the longer people go without basic necessities, it is a chicken and egg situation. Did they become homeless because they were mentally ill and unable to hold down a job, or did being on the streets do them in?

I would say that it’s different in every case, but I can see how being reduced to absolute survival mode can do so much damage in so little time…. especially if said homeless person is arrested and thrown in jail. Jail is not a happy place, especially when you’re put there due to circumstances beyond your control. People get arrested for all kinds of inanity, such as loitering, because where are you supposed to go when you don’t have an address?

Add that to the inequality in both hiring and sentencing leads minorities down a pipeline of enormous proportions. The first is that a resumé with the name Michael Smith is so much more likely to get an interview than one with the name Tyrone Washington. The second is that minorities are more likely to get harsher sentences than whites, so something that should have been a misdemeanor is adjudicated as a felony, and that always looks good to hiring managers.

Nothing makes my blood boil faster, because even if the minority is guilty, that does not mean that he/she deserves to be treated more harshly than anyone else. It’s white privilege at its finest.

My pastor, Matt, said something interesting regarding this very thing. Minorities are allowed to be prejudiced against whites, but there is no such thing as “reverse racism.” That is because prejudice in minority communities is relatively harmless, a way of dealing with earned scorn toward whites for the systematic oppression of minorities that they’ve endured for centuries now. There is no comparison whatsoever, and to do so is to willfully ignore the difference. Prejudice is personal bias. Racism is institutionalized from the top down, with no end in sight. No matter how much we march and protest against it, President Trump isn’t going anywhere, and neither are his goons satisfied with the status quo.

That does not mean that protesting is useless, however. With enough people in the crowd, it’s hard to be ignored by Congress or the media. There is also the community that comes together with a common goal, the creation of safe space…. the seeking out of like-minded people that is a lifeline when there is such a feeling of hopelessness.

Martin Luther King, Jr. once said that Sunday morning at 11:00 is the most segregated hour in America. In a lot of ways, this has not changed, but it has changed for me. I am blessed to have a community in which whites and minorities worship together under both a #blacklivesmatter and a rainbow flag. I am blessed to have a community that shows up for marches demanding equality for all people, despite the violence that has occurred as a result. The scariest was when our #blacklivesmatter sign was vandalized and pictures of the reporters shot in Roanoke on live TV were taped to the side doors.

It led to one of the biggest turnouts on Sunday morning that I’ve ever seen in any church anywhere, because we were there to say we were not afraid. Looking for succor, yes, but there was power in showing up. Jeffrey Thames preached that day, a sermon I’ll never forget called The Certain Samaritan. It was built to comfort us in our distress and distress us out of our comfort.

We will not back down from attending church because of this threat. We will continue to do the work of peace and justice that we always have, because it defines who we are as a congregation………………….

We will continue to let people rest and recuperate as they need. We will continue to clothe the naked. We will continue to feed the hungry. We will continue to make people of all faiths and origins our friends. We will continue to fight without a fight. It doesn’t take violence to respond. It takes certainty.

It was a beautiful illustration regarding now that this has happened, what are we to do? Applause is for a performance, not a worship service, and yet he deserved a standing ovation. He pointed the way from pain to promise in a way that people will not soon forget.

Whenever you think local politics don’t matter, remember that law & order starts in your neighborhood and branches out. When the leaves are turning brown, remember that it is your right and responsibility to turn on the sprinklers.

Amen.
#prayingonthespaces

The Power of the Universe

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I cannot stop thinking about Jeffrey Thames and all the work we have the possibility of doing in this community. I am serious when I say that meeting was my hot coal, the thing that took the fire in my belly and refreshed it anew in a way that I haven’t felt since the senior high youth retreat at Christ United Methodist Church. I was 15 or 16 then, and Mikal Bowman was my best friend, the one I could safely say I loved more than myself. I was just as invested in her happiness as I was my own. She was the one to whom I could submit in my daily life without even realizing it was happening. This was the day that realization became reality, both in the chord between us and in my own chord with God.

They put us in groups of two, and blindfolded one… me. There was thick, thick twine called the “lifeline,” and it was a trust exercise to get us to submit to our partner’s direction. We could hold on to the “lifeline,” but we couldn’t see. It was the partner’s job to make sure we didn’t run into anything, to be our eyes in the darkness. Mikal (whom my dad affectionately called “Mikalwave”) and I had gone about 15 steps when I GOT IT. My enormous ego crumbled into the dirt and I fell against Myke, crying so hard I COULD NOT EVEN.

Maybe there’s not a God, and maybe there is. I took Logic as a math requirement at University of Houston, because apparently Logic using symbols and Algebra are the same thing (never in three lifetimes). We spent the first half of the semester proving God exists, and the second half of the semester disproving. No matter what we did, we couldn’t prove it either way.

THAT IS THE WHOLE POINT ENTIRELY.

Faith is, as Elaine Pagels so eloquently says, “beyond belief.” The question is why? My answer is that God is too big to comprehend, and will never be proven with fact. This is because we cannot know that anyone is listening when we pray, but we see its effects every day when we are willing to submit to the idea that there is something greater than ourselves; a deep chord, manhole covered in size that can only be accessed by looking inward.

You will know this feeling intimately if you are a musician or singer, because there are two factors at play. The first is that in either singing or playing, you are breathing all the way down, using your entire body to focus on every breath. The second is what happens when everyone in the room is taking those breaths together.

Let’s extrapolate.

What would happen if everyone in a congregation saw God as individually breathing all the way down, and taking those breaths together? How would church politics change when everyone in the room is focusing on the chord that runs between them? How would church politics change when everyone in the room submits to it?

How would the American system of caring for “the least of these” change if we, as a country, were all breathing together?

Diane Syrcle has a great line about this, which she said in front of a treble choir (meaning it was all women), hands in a triangle around her uterus, that “singing is breathing all the way down into the power of the universe… because it is.” New birth, new life, new hope… the power of the universe so close we can touch it… literally. Catholics are onto something by praying to Mary, because it is praying to the power of birth… as tangible an evidence of faith as there is in this life.

If you can’t believe in a God, can you believe in a baby?

Can you submit to the power that comes with a tabula rasa, a clean slate that so many permutations of growth that it would take eons to calculate?

There is never a time when I feel more religious than Advent, because there we are, all waiting for the baby together. What kinds of growth will we do when we realize that we have the chance to be born again every single year? What kinds of ego will fall away? What kinds of sins will you release in the name of rebirth? How will you grow as that Holy Spirit touches a hot coal to your lips and burns away the old versions of you? What will you accomplish that you didn’t in the year before? How will you force yourself into a different reality? I often say that life is a series of learning to commit different sins rather than the same ones over and over. That is the very essence of acknowledging your humanness, that you cannot live life without flaws, but you can let go of them as you forgive yourself; they disappear into the ether as you grow.

The power of the universe comes into play when we’re all doing that very thing at the same time…. the way musicians breathe.

How you forgive yourself is the question with which we struggle- not once, but over and over and over. I cannot speak for you. For me, the answer is that feeling- the way my muscles stretch to accommodate so much more air. As Jeffrey would say, “when you breathe in, you take in the power of the universe.

Whether you believe it or not.

Amen

#prayingonthespaces………………………..

Sermon for Pentecost, Year B

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 1 Comment

It’s not often that a scripture hits me as hard as the Gospel did today. I actually shed a few tears as I was reading when I got to the part about “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.” Because he’s right. I cannot bear anything right now that means Jesus is further away. I do not want Jesus to preach from the cloud. I want him HERE. I am in the place in my life where the Mediator, Advocate and Paraclete means so much to me that there is nothing more I want to do than touch the hem of his robe and be healed. To have Jesus turn around and say, “who touched me?” To be delivered from my distress, and there is a lot of it. In the past few years, I have lost a lot of friends, most notably my precious Argo and my precious Dana. They both carried me, sometimes kicking and screaming, into a new reality, one that I knew I needed but was reticent to give hope. They are my Holy Spirit Incarnate, which is a big phrase, but apt in this case.

I don’t normally do confessional sermons; they seem self-serving instead of serving God. But at the same time, the story of this Gospel and the scriptures set forth by the Lectionary are too personal. They got under my skin, the words tattooing themselves in the deep, dark recesses of my mind. There are just so many.

Why in the world would I say that Dana and Argo are my Holy Spirit Incarnate? Hear the words of Luke in the book of Acts:

When the day of Pentecost had come, the disciples were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

They were so disoriented that Peter had to stand up and tell everyone they weren’t drunk. It is in direct opposition to Jesus’ message, or at least, it is to me. Jesus is telling the Disciples that if they don’t let him go, they will never know the peace he has to offer. The peace? He is a member of the Trinity. Hearing about the Holy Spirit just does not compute.

Luke writes that the Holy Spirit is like the sound of “a violent wind.” Where could they possibly meet in th middle? They just don’t……….. unless?

Whoever said that the people didn’t NEED to be shaken out of their complacency? I once said of Jesus that he doesn’t so much comfort me in my distress, but distress me out of my comfort. Perhaps I was putting emphasis on the wrong entity? When Peter preaches, he quotes the prophet Joel:

In the last days it will be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,
and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,
and your young men shall see visions,
and your old men shall dream dreams.
Even upon my slaves, both men and women,
in those days I will pour out my Spirit;
and they shall prophesy.
And I will show portents in the heaven above
and signs on the earth below, blood, and fire, and smoky mist.
The sun shall be turned to darkness
and the moon to blood,
before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day.
Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.

I know this is old language, but there is just so much here that is relevent to progressive Christianity. The first thing is that Joel is all-inclusive. Sons, daughters, slaves. It doesn’t matter. We are all going to be taken forcibly out of our comfort zones because what is right side up will be upside down and vice versa.

In my own story, Dana and Argo were my violent wind, taking me forcibly out of my comfort zone and forcing me to accept my own upside down and right side up. Dana and I were married for seven years. We got comfortable. We created our own family dysfunction and because it seemed normal, we stayed there. Lost in our own little world. The sun turned to darkness and the moon to blood when our dysfunction showed even to us when Argo came into our lives. She became a catalyst for both of us to look at ourselves and see the patterns we’d developed over time, both positive and negative. As time progressed, Dana became a mighty wind herself, because she could see the catalyst happening within me and shook me up as well. Both of them were justified in their anger at me. I said and did things that haunt me to this day, because a month ago I took their anger and let it motivate me. I took their Holy Spirit warnings and realized that their work wasn’t done. I had to believe them, I had to submit to them, I had to internally accept what I had done, and the violent wind I’d become in my own right. I also shook them up, in a way for which they did not ask.

Whether I motivated positive change or negative, I do not know. I am not entitled to their opinion unless they want to give it. However, I can accept that getting me out of their lives might have been the best thing for them. I can accept that my blood and fire was unwelcome. It is a situation we all face at different times in our lives….. whether we can own it or not.

The question now is whether we can recover from it, and if so, how in the hell do we do it?

By reaching out. By reaching up. By accepting the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day. Most people think of that day as The Second Coming. I do not think that in the slightest. To me, the Lord’s great and glorious day is when we reach inside ourselves, own our sins unto other people, and ask the Paraclete to make us whole……

Do you see what I did there?
Do you see it?

There’s the meeting of one and another. The violence and the promise. The internal struggle and the need for comfort as we face it head on. Moses gave us the Caduceus, now used as the symbol for doctors the world over. It is no accident that hundreds of years later, Jesus was called The Great Physician. You go to a doctor when you need a cure. The Great Physician can heal your heart, but only if you make the commitment to ask. To keep asking. To see the violent, mighty wind coming and ask for help.

After the storm comes the rainbow. What does that rainbow look like to you? In my own life, it is prayer. It is the constant joy of speaking out loud and believing that someone is listening whether they are or not. Believing in God is not a requirement for prayer. Believing in prayer is a way to channel your own distress into prosperity. The longer you pray, the more you listen to your self, your inner being, your godspace.

When I realized that I was a person even I didn’t like, submitting to the power of Jesus’ messages of hope, redemption, relief, and comfort gave me strength inside myself to take the violent, ugly changes in my life and walk away from them so that I could forgive myself and be the person I wanted to be. I did not want to participate in violence. I did not want to add to the mess I’d already created. I wanted to be whole.

When I touched the hem of Jesus’ robe metaphysically, my mental health changed. I started to feel a peace I hadn’t felt since childhood. An ever-present rage went out of me and I started to send both Dana and Argo constant prayers of safety, comfort, relief, atonement for the things I felt they’d done and wishing for their peace as well. Wishes became reality when I realized that I did not need their forgiveness, because it had come from sending the prayers themselves.

Christ gave me an invitation to peace once the violent mighty wind had passed and the raging storm became the calm he said he would give.

I ask that wherever you are in your journey, that you are given peace as well. That you are able to reach out in distress and metaphysically touch Jesus’ hem as well. Because he preaches from the cloud, he won’t have to ask who touched him.

He’ll just know.

Amen.