Liz: Impeccable Speech and Bumper Sticker Politics

"President Obama is a Marxist Dictator."  This was the statement I saw on the back of a man's car a few weeks back.  I was picking up my daughter from dance rehearsal when I saw it.   Whoa.  That's a pretty serious accusation to have plastered to the hind-quarters of one's vehicle.   I saw the man getting into his car with his sweet daughter, who couldn't have been more than 5 years old.  I wonder if she'd tried to read it.  "Daddy, what's a Marxist?"  I wondered if he'd actually know the answer to that question.

It got me thinking about the prevalence of politically and religiously charged stickers on our cars. What purpose do they really serve?  Surely not to promote dialogue, otherwise we'd SAY these things in person rather than sticking them to the back part of our cars where we are unable to see the reactions they elicit from the people behind us.  Some may say they are a way to express ourselves, but is this form of expression healthy, or is it more divisive?  I thought about the humorous, yet politically charged bumper sticker I have on the back of our minivan.  Perhaps it's not the best witness I can give in today's polarized climate.

I think we've become a bumper sticker society, and to a large extent have lost the ability to argue well.  It is indeed easier to throw out a sound byte and then drive away like mad before anyone can react to our faces than it is to engage in true discussion with people who believe differently than we do.  Why is this?  I think, deep down, we are all afraid of having our minds changed.  Our statements appear perfectly formed and flawless in a vacuum, but throw in a voice of dissent and the argument can unravel quickly.
Best not to risk it; slap on a sticker and drive away.

I have recently been in conversation with many members of my denomination over our recent change in ordination standards.  Talk of it is everywhere:  in pastor support groups, on blogs, over emails with colleagues from seminary, on facebook, in coffee shops, Session meetings and church parking lots.  Some I have spoken with are in support of the changes, and some are opposed.   It is indeed a risky business to talk these matters out, but in my opinion it is necessary business.   It is only through the practice of speaking our differences with love that we will be able to overcome our bumper-sticker mentality and truly talk with one another again.

In this case, impeccability is found not in what we say but rather in how we say it.  Face to face, and not stuck to the back of the car.

Laila: Can You Overthink Impeccable?

I have made my way through half of a bag of delicious Lays Classic chips thinking of how to respond to two different friends about two entirely different issues.   I owe my greasy, salty fingertips (did I mention delicious?) to analyzing and overanalyzing imagined conversations with the impeccable filter on. I have even considered avoiding said conversations and putting off talking to these people until a later date. Of course then there is the fester factor and we all know that that will eventually end in tears or a really upset stomache preventing future consumption of aforementioned chips. 

Here is where I get stuck – in my mind I think “impeccable” has to equal “nice”, when in fact, as a great friend so recently reminded me, impeccable means being honest with yourself about your feelings, and thus the person you are talking to. And honest isn’t always rainbows and roses, but at least the delivery can be thoughtful.

I also realize these imagined conversations require way too much mental energy on my part. It’s almost like I formulate a game plan so I will be able to handle myself in a more impeccable manner then if I were to wing it.  “If she zigs, I’ll zag over here and make sure I say this!  But if she zags, hmmmm, maybe I zig and do this instead….oh the possibilities are endless!”  And then crinkle, crinkle, CRUNCH, CRUNCH – more chips.  I could save myself a lot of headache and calories by just having the actual conversations and taking my time to respond AFTER listening.

I know I cannot control how someone is going to react to my words, but I know that I can control how those words come out. I never go into a conversation intending to hurt feelings, but that is a risk when you are honest with yourself and with your words. If there needs to be more pauses in the conversation for me to focus on impeccability then so be it, I can do the two minute end of the soap opera scene stare with the best of them! So I am off to have those much needed conversations, as soon as I find the phone, which appears to be behind a delicious bag of salt and vinegar chips......riiiiiiip, CRUNCH CRUNCH, mmmmm.

Liz: How to Kill a Wolf

Here is where the rubber meets the road, as it were.  Today I face a real challenge with impeccability.  I have a colleague who has recently done something I despise.  This is not the first time we have disagreed, heatedly, on certain politically charged topics.  In my opinion he stands for hate in the name of Christ which is the most despicable combination I can think of.

At this point in time I am incapable of speaking eloquently about this person, or of sounding wise or hoping to lead folks into a sense of enlightenment through my words.  I am angry, angry to the point of perverse enjoyment over the hatred I feel for his actions.  I don't know if that makes sense.  Have you felt  a righteous anger against someone?  Have you ever been so sure you were right that to despise that person felt good, like scratching a bug bite until it starts bleeding again?  It is a self righteous hatred that some broken part of me wants to hold on to.  Moreover I want the world to know what he has done.  I want to text it, email it, post it on facebook.  I want to scream his name at God and say, "Do you SEE what this person does in your name?? Are you not PISSED OFF??"

And yet I know I must let it go.  I cannot live into hate, because then I am no better than this person, and my actions are equally abhorrant.  Neither can I spread news of my anger to people who know him.   The sick feeling I get inside from talking even to myself about him is reminiscent of a story we heard in preaching class in seminary long ago entitled, "How to Kill a Wolf."  It outlines in gruesome detail the way certain hunters use a bloodied knife to cause a wolf to kill himself by attempting to lick it clean.  The wolf cuts himself on the knife until he bleeds to death, and that's what our hatred does.  Righteous anger or not, it kills us from within, until our hatred mixes with the hatred of others and we become consumed.

And so I will pray.  I honestly don't know what else to do.   I don't ask for forgiveness for him or me, or for understanding, or anything rational because I'm not there yet.  I ask for peace, and for God to be in relationship with him so that I don't have to.  Not yet, anyway.  Maybe some day.

Laila: Well Who Asked You Anyway?

During my impeccable journey, I have begun to be more aware of my listening skills. I have always prided myself on being a good listener (I think it’s even on my resume), but had started to notice during some conversations I was slipping – I was interjecting my thoughts before the person I was talking to was done with their point. I was also offering unsolicited advice, and more often than not that advice had a negative edge to it. And I realized that there was rarely a time when I was having a conversation with someone in which they actually said “What do you think about that?”  I had gotten so used to just assuming that having a conversation with me meant they wanted my opinion that I would just burst out with it, and like I said before, often not even waiting for them to finish their thought because of course what I had to say was so important. One thing I do like about cell phones is that you can’t talk over the other person because if they are talking they can’t hear you.  But I digress. 

So, I started really paying attention to the dynamic of my conversations, phone and in person.  I decided that I would try to be more of an observer of the dialogue and less of a critic or problem solver.  It was very interesting, because I think I was so used to a give and take scenario for the most part that just listening was actually an act of self-control. Especially on a recent call when a relative revealed to me that they were doing something that sent up a red flag right away. It was sooooo hard not to jump all over that with my thoughts and feelings. At first I didn’t, I just did a lot of “hmmm” and “oh-ing” but finally I broke down and said -  “That doesn’t sound like it would be too healthy for you”.  And as soon as it was out, I felt bad. Not because I didn’t mean it, but because I failed in withholding my unsolicited opinion. Is it really that ingrained in me to always have to throw my two cents in, no matter how short a sentence?  It’s hard to think about everything you say, even though that sentence sounds silly as I type it. Why is it hard?  Even under the guise of being helpful, things can come out in a negative way, which can ultimately shadow any worthwhile and positive insight I might have offered.

So to impeccable words and thoughts I add another challenge of impeccable listening, which I think easily goes hand in hand with the other two. I think my first steps in achieving this are to meditate more. Meditation slows my thought process down to a nice mellow level, so I am not so quick to respond (or maybe that’s wine?).  By taking the time to really listen well, I can then limit knee jerk reactions, and instead choose my responses accordingly with truth and love.

Impeccable Timing and Osama bin Laden

I heard the news that Osama bin Laden had been killed at about 10pm on Sunday night.  My husband tuned the TV to CNN and we watched the President's speech.   In that moment I did not begin parading around the streets waving an American flag but I must admit I was pleased, even happy, to hear the news.   I felt a jingoistic triumph which lasted into the next morning, when I found myself fighting a strong desire to high-five people around town.  "Yeah, baby, it's about TIME!!   Now maybe the free world can get on with our free-world-happiness without having to look over our shoulders every 5 minutes.  Maybe flying will be fun again.  Maybe all the radical Muslims who hate us will change their minds and send us chocolates instead, with a little post-it note saying, 'We're OK, You're OK.  Sorry about that whole 9/11 thing.'"

But by that afternoon I had been in conversation with several friends who questioned a jubilant response.  A life had been snuffed out.  A man lay dead.   Yes, he was a man who had caused us great pain.  But a death is hardly a reason to dance in the streets.  It is, after all, still death.  Then I picked up my daughter from school, and her reaction to the news that bin Laden had been killed was to ask why we couldn't have just put him in 'time out' until he said he was sorry.

Later, I was asked to participate in a "man on the street" interview for our local newspaper which was gathering reactions from citizens about bin Laden's demise.  This stopped me in my tracks.  What did I want to say of my reaction, knowing it would be recorded for public consumption?  How could I respond honestly yet thoughtfully, as a citizen, as a pastor, as a mother? 

I thought about the Four Agreements, and how impeccable words are those that build up rather than tear down.   With that in mind, I realized that to tell how I felt the minute I heard the news about bin Laden would have been truthful, but I am not sure it would have been impeccable.  My thoughts had already evolved from one reaction to another in less than 24 hours.  I had needed time to process what I heard.  I decided to share this evolution of thought in the interview, adding that regardless of my own feelings I believe in a God who has the power to turn even our human tragedies to good.

I don't feel that my initial and visceral glad reaction was sinful.  It came from a place deep within, a place abiding in a nation that has been grieving the loss of its own innocence for a decade.   But I have learned that my opinions, especially on political or other emotionally charged topics, should be fluid and changing.  I do not believe that this evolution is wishy-washy relativism, but rather a mark of maturity and an ability to self-examine which is essential to healthy dialogue.  The tricky part is knowing when to speak out, and when to hold our tongues.

Laila: If you could read my mind love...

Attempting to be impeccable with my words and thoughts with my kids is a challenge enough, but attempting to do the same with my husband has proven to be, shall we say, even more challenging.

Situation: Right now my husband and I are in a situation where his work takes him away for ten days, then back for a few then away again, then back, and on and on. This leaves me to care for our young kids, and our needy big brown furry chunk of love from earlier posts. The cat does not count, since we all know he is an island and needs no one but a willing hand to feed him twice a day.  So our days are energetic and hectic and fun and on a pseudo-schedule (mine) which is the way I like it and the way it works best.  Some things get done around the house, and some don’t, because after all since I am the one here it is all about my priorities.

Opportunity (since there are no problems): Enter husband, back from hunting in far off land  - immediately springs into action with his plan/schedule for the next few days.  Of course his vision is not the same as mine, and I am not quite sure how that happened because by this point he should know me well enough to read my mind!  So I take a step back (into the next room, up the stairs and over to the other side of the house) and contemplate how I can handle this shift in my world with impeccability. The contemplating lasts about 30 seconds before the un-impeccable thoughts begin to circle, thoughts that I manage to prevent from oozing out of my mouth. I just start biting my lip instead. Then the thoughts bubble too long under the surface and start to seep out in passive aggressive actions towards the hubby. Not good-especially since he doesn’t even notice! Soon I realize that I am the only one getting all worked up and he is fine because as far as he is concerned things that are important to him are getting done, kids are being fed and played with, and all is well in his kingdom for the few days that he is home.   

Solution: Finally at the end of the weekend, tired of my own festering, I say something. I speak from my heart about what I am feeling, nothing snarky, only the truth. I am impeccable with my word.  And right away he gets it and says “Just tell me next time”.  It completely changed how I was feeling, and in an instant I could feel all of the tension I had managed to store up just melt away. I also realized I had expended  a lot of unnecessary energy over the weekend by internalizing my feelings and wallowing in un-impeccable thoughts. Moral of the story? Next time have the conversation a lot sooner so his time home can be enjoyed by all–or better yet, maybe there won’t be a next time…...HAHAHAHAHA, oh me, living the dream!