Beyond Categorical Thinking: Two Perspectives
“Will the new minister hear me? Will my concerns and needs be met? Will the minister understand what I’m living with, what my life is about? How will the community respond to our new minister?” These and other questions are addressed by our two guest speakers, Rev. Ann Marie Alderman and Jacqui Williams, in their preamble to the “Beyond Categorical Thinking” workshop.
Beyond Categorical Thinking/Rev. Ann Marie Alderman
About 15 years ago, I began visiting a small UU fellowship in South Georgia. I had mostly stayed away from any church for nearly twenty years. I only visited this one to be supportive of a friend who had just become their once-a-month speaker. My friend and I had both long before earned seminary degrees at Vanderbilt.
After attending a few services that usually included no more than 25 people, I shared that not only had I earned a master of divinity degree from Vanderbilt, but also I had even majored in religion during my college days. I told them I grew up as an active Southern Baptist and had become a Methodist for a brief time while I was in seminary. What I didn’t say was that, not long after seminary, I left the church world angry and disillusioned, feeling that there was no place there for me.
Some who knew my friend’s story began asking more about mine. They asked me: “Why aren’t you in the ministry?” I remember my response. I replied (with plenty of attitude), “Because I’m QUEER!” They responded, “So what? That doesn’t matter here.”
I will always remember that moment! It marked a major turning point for me, a moment of acceptance that freed me to move forward in my journey to be whole, to be of service, to find a spiritual home. They didn’t say what I had heard so many times before: “OK, then. You’re not qualified.” Or “You are going to have to find a way to hide that part of yourself.” Instead they said, “So what?”
That little 30-member South Georgia congregation’s simple message of acceptance was just what I needed to hear. It began my release from decades of exile, from marginalization and separation, from anger and self-hate and a well of sadness. Their response launched me into the long, step-by-step process of becoming an ordained, fully fellowshipped, and settled UU minister.
My earlier education for professional ministry taught me many things, many subjects, many skills, but most important it taught me that one ministers with and from the deepest part of one’s authentic self. “Categorical thinking” (mine and others) had for so long stood in the way of my being able to minister with a core that was free to be in full and right relationship with myself, with you. Denied entry into ministry because I was queer, and I was not willing to hide, denied entry because of what others found unacceptable about me, I internalized the message that I was unacceptable.
Perhaps as a way to counteract that message, I spent years immersing myself in the “category” that defined me! For nearly two decades I dived deep into the lesbian subculture. A separatist from the larger society in as many ways as I could be, I only ventured out into the “straight” world for work and for contact with my biological family. By mid-life, I had become a strong, out, lesbian feminist, clear that that was my primary identity. But I wanted to know, be known by a wider community, I wanted to be in the full family of God, full of all identities, full of all people, all on a journey to be whole. It was thrilling to hear that Unitarian Universalism offered that.
All I had to do was spend a few more years getting ready! I spent an intense weekend with career counselors proving that I was psychologically fit for the ministry. I did nine months as a student minister with a UU congregation, choosing to spend a year in a hospital setting as a student chaplain. It was in that setting that I learned to be a minister with people who didn’t care (or know) if I was a lesbian or even a UU. They just wanted a minister to be a minister in their time of need. The scales fell off my eyes, the hardness left my heart. With their recognition and acceptance that I was a minister, I became a minister.
I was ordained just over 10 years ago. All along the way, there have been more moments of freeing “so what” experiences, and a thousand subtle forms of categorical thinking, both mine and others, from non UUs and UUs alike. After I was ordained and fellowshipped, I served as an associate minister and then a half-time sole minister, and am in my fifth year as a full-time minister with a small congregation.
I am very blessed to be finally a full-time, all-the-time UU minister. I feel for the many, many women who came before me who dealt with the blatant and subtle forms of discrimination. I feel for the gay men and lesbians who, before I came along, lived with the blatant and the subtle forms of discrimination from UUs. I see and am saddened by the blatant and subtle discrimination that UU ministers of color, UU ministers who are disabled, UU transgender ministers deal with every day from UUs. I hope for the time when we’ll be free from all of it.
I spent my student minister internship with a congregation that had a significant history of conflict regarding gay folk in the congregation, much less gay folk in the ministry! I had heard the stories. Most of those stories included an elderly, long-time member who happened to be the chair of the student minister committee when I was the intern. I had heard that he was the main opponent (not many years before I got there) who had successfully blocked a proposal to bring an openly lesbian student in for her year of internship. One day, after I had been the student minister for a couple of months, and things seemed to be going well, I asked this elderly man why he was so accepting of me. His answer was, “You’re no big deal.”
I could have taken that as an insult. But I knew that for him and for me, my being no big deal was immense progress! That’s what the “Beyond Categorical Thinking” training is all about.
The best next minister for you might be someone who is Latina and transgender and who uses a wheelchair. If none of those descriptors mattered in your appreciating, receiving, and welcoming how great this next minister is, that would be a really big deal.
Invisibled Winston Salem/Jacqui Williams
I began using the word “invisibled” a few years ago and would like to share some thoughts on it with you today.
The overall theme of Ann Marie’s and my visit this weekend is “Beyond Categorical Thinking,” a program of the UUA to assist search committees and their congregations in the process to call a settled minister. The concept of being yet not being seen is one that people living on the margins or considered outside the norm are well aware of.
As far as invisibility is concerned, you may recall reading the 1897 science fiction novella called The Invisible Man by H. G. Wells. Basically it is the story of a white, male scientist who applies his theory of altering his refractive image to that of air and his body to neither absorb nor reflect light, so that in effect he becomes invisible. The novel follows the scientist’s journey into madness until a mob attacks and kills him in retribution for the terror he inflicted on others. Invisible didn’t seem like a very good way to be in the world.
Or perhaps you’ve read the 1952 novel by Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man, which brought to light many of the attitudes and actions towards people of African descent in the 30s and 40s. Instead of the loner scientist of the Wells novel who ingests chemicals that render him unseen, Ellison’s character describes a life of being physically present yet unseen even to the point of having a name. This process is close to what I refer to as being invisibled, since it is something done to and not by the subject.
A 1960s era popular culture character was Sue Storm, a member of the Fantastic Four in Marvel comics. She was originally known as Invisible Girl, and then rewritten as Invisible Woman, who could make herself and others invisible and create powerful force fields. Unlike the Wells and Ellison characters, Storm is a member of a team that also has unusual powers. They right wrongs, are considered superheroes, and have interpersonal squabbles.
Now that I’ve gotten you thinking about novels and comic books, I’m going to ask you to turn your minds toward being at a UU committee meeting where you pose a question and the person responds not to you but to the person three seats past you. Can you imagine standing in line for a cup of coffee and bagel only to have someone step in front without uttering an “excuse me,” step on your foot, and look at you as if it were your fault? Think to a time you spoke out at an annual meeting or proposed a motion only to see someone else’s name accredited in the minutes? Have you been in a service where the speaker used a collective possessive that had nothing to do with you? Has the minister or lay leader headed purposely to meet a guest you are engaged in conversation with and fail to speak with you? These are some ways I have been “invisibled.”
The example of being spoken over took place at a UU leadership institute. Immediately after it happened I brought it to the speaker’s attention by waving my hands in the air and then telling him what I had experienced. At first he looked at me without comprehension, then said the reason he addressed the other person was that they had some information that could be useful. He could not say why he didn’t say this to me other than it would be quicker to go to the source.
When I purposely placed myself back in the path of the woman who stepped on my foot, hoping for an apology, she chose to ask why I was attending a UU congregation anyway since there weren’t other Black people there. When I went to the first garage sale in the Albany congregation after becoming a member, a woman I hadn’t met insisted on telling me how things were set up, read the price list to me, said how glad she was that people from the community felt comfortable to visit “her” church. I had to walk away and breathe for a while before returning to introduce myself as a new member who had first visited for a few years, and was glad to have finally met her since she doesn’t come to Sunday services.
In a particular sermon, the speaker talked about this being a nation of immigrants and a melting pot where each ancestry blended with others. I wanted to know how many of their ancestors were enslaved and legislatively declared to be less than human. When hearing calls to reach down (not out) to the less fortunate in the zip code where I live I sometimes wonder if I should be taking money out of the offering plate instead of putting it in.
A UU congregation isn’t the only place I get confused when people say or do things that seem to ignore my presence as a person of African descent, a woman, over 50, home owner, UU, parent, grandparent, daughter, friend, lover, etc. Being spoken about but not to feels as if the conversation is taking place in my absence ... so sometimes I leave.
Some of my other experiences in traveling around the country doing this program or being a member of a UUA committee are having been left on the steps outside the church door as the person on the other side went to check if it was okay to let me in, being told to go to the entrance where the catering crew was gathering instead of shown to the minister’s office, told I would not have been given the same hotel recommendations if they knew I was Black, questioned about my ability to follow an order of service or use a microphone, and assumed that I knew any and all other UUs of color.
When I first began speaking at UU congregations for “Beyond Categorical Thinking” services, I shared a phrase that I had heard in a talk by Dr. Joy DeGruy, author of Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome and later also from Bill Clinton as I was listening to his book Giving. The phrase comes from an independent state in South Africa called Lesotho. When we greet one another in this country there seems to be little if any expectation that communication is taking place. Yet in Lesotho, when people meet they look into each other’s eyes and say, “I see you.” Within those three words are a range of acknowledgments, from “How are your parents?” to “I remember you from first grade,” to “Great game,” to “Too bad your sister is ill,” To “Congratulations on the new job,” to “I’ll be over later to see the new baby.” The idea of being seen for all that you are, have been, and are connected to is a much fuller recognition of being.
For those of you who go to the movies you may recall hearing “I see you” in the James Cameron blockbuster movie a few years ago. “Avatar” used many African concepts and actually helped bring the notion of “seeing” people for all that they are into the mainstream vocabulary. Most of the reviews I read cited references to Native American, not African, culture. Invisibled in 3D and on IMAX.
Perhaps you’ve heard of something called Occupy Wall Street. A companion event began on October 21 where I live in Albany, NY, and was physically dismantled on 0December 22. Occupy movements have been challenged by women and people of color regarding visibility as facilitators, frequency of being called upon, and which issues are included in the demands. I was pleased to be part of organizing a caucus in Albany whose initial statement was greeted with overwhelming support. During the Albany General Assemblies, reminders had to be made as the process began to revert and continues even as the legal process for how a group of people are allowed to exercise our First Amendment rights is discussed and defined. We remain vigilant about being visible and heard.
This morning I checked email while downloading material for this afternoon’s workshop. A small group called the Albany Family Educational Alliance has been working since 2007 to provide a better start to many children’s educational experience based on the Geoffrey Canada experience and model of the Harlem Children’s Zone. They formed a Baby Institute for parents and children 0 to 3 and a scholars program for fifth and sixth graders to encourage and strengthen reading skills. The State University of New York’s Chancellor was part of an educational initiative elsewhere and brought together a huge coalition of what she calls stakeholders, applying for federal Promise Grants in 2010 and 2011. The mission is to provide access to whatever it takes for children to succeed from cradle to college or career in three neighborhoods identified with the highest rates of academic failure. The small core group of AFEA members includes a Black, lesbian writer/publisher/activist who sits on the city council and was nominated for a Nobel Peace prize; a white heterosexual male psychiatrist who was formerly on the school board; retirees from the state education department; Board of Health employees; the founder of a youth interactive group; community organizers, etc. This group was joined last summer by another eight or so people who live or work in these neighborhoods and have a history of involvement and skills to further the work. We fought hard for the Albany Promise governing board to have a majority percentage of people connected to these neighborhoods and got massive pushback. We did not get the grant; however, the work continues.
My morning email message states that kitchen talks are beginning this week based on recommendations from other partners. The one Black-owned bookstore is not included in the business group. No Latino group is included, although the three neighborhoods identified as the “target” of the work are heavily people of color and poor — which according to Census and other data include Latinos. One of our key AFEA members is a Latina retired school professional. We were not included in the decision making, not informed, and not invited to take part until one of our members mentioned an email none of the rest of us received and I responded that I could not be at this Tuesday’s plenary and asked why I had not been informed of which committee I would be working on. My friend met with the project manager yesterday and sent notes this morning, letting us know how “invisibled” we are in the work to improve our communities and our children’s educational foundation.
What would it take to being open to seeing and hearing who a person is and wishes to offer before making decisions based on skin color, accent, dress, age, level of ability, zip code, or method of transportation or associates? Seeing versus invisibling: Given a choice, which would you consciously choose to do? Being able to make a choice is a privilege most U.S. citizens fail to recognize. As Unitarian Universalists, we often point to what others need to be doing without considering the need to do personal, congregational, and association-wide discernment.
You have been engaged in the process of assessing yourselves and your needs as you prepare to call your next settled minister. The workshop that Rev. Alderman and I will be facilitating after the service and lunch will provide participants with some tools to allow you to “see” yourselves individually and as a congregation in ways you may not have thought of before.
Being asked to think a little differently about identities of the ministerial candidate and who is here is what “Beyond Categorical Thinking” is about.
Thank you for allowing me to share a bit of my story and offer you the concept of invisibled to consider.
Aché.
