Haven’t been here for a long time. Not sure I want to be here now.
And that pretty much summed up my whole religious existence until I received an email yesterday from a man who wrote:
Recent events and reflection on the grand influence your Dad had in my life led me to your story presented within the Father’s Day tribute to Ray by Caroline Myss. Ray was, as you know, youth minister in the 1950s at Manhasset Congregational Church in NY. I was in that ‘Pilgrim Fellowship’ in the years 1950 through 1954. I’m now 75 and have been constantly reminded through the years of his love, humor and compassion which he radiated to all. Your story brought it to the fore once again.
Rev. Ray Fenner
Whew… Though my dad died 20 years ago in April, I guess he is still alive. Every time I hear something like this, he is resurrected for me and I am cracked wide open.
I feel almost ashamed to have him return and see me like this; wounded and still reeling from the conservative version of the very religion that made that man in the letter carry the memory of my father, then a young man fresh out of seminary, so deep in his heart.
But it is not so much I who am wounded. It is my brothers and sisters of different faiths, skin colors, sexual orientations, economic statuses who, in the guise of love, are made to feel less than worthy of the love of God.
My own wound is the anger I feel toward others for this. Each time someone touches it I feel like lashing out at them for reawakening my pain and when they pick at the scab the wound bleeds again and I feel unable to call on the “love, humor and compassion” my dad showed us was the essence of Jesus, to heal it.
The man in the letter asked: “If reasonable, I would like to know of the evolution of your life and especially how Ray’s presence touched it.”
My god, where to begin? Or more to the point, where to end?
Rev. Ray Fenner
How does one live in a world where true Christianity, the real thing, was modeled for you every day yet seems too often to be missing today? How does one converse with others who have been indoctrinated by misguided preachers who told them it was okay to hate anyone “in the name of Jesus”? How does one not rage in the temple that my father helped build, turning over the tables of the hypocrites and false prophets for creating a mockery of it?
Where, indeed, would I begin….
Maybe with my desire from a young age to follow in his footsteps, when I heard him advocate for me to play Little League baseball on the boys-only team in a way that was gentle yet compelling?
Or with his response of unashamed grace when I came out to him when I was 20?
Or maybe with all the times he’d ride his motorcycle 50 miles round trip, even after the doctor had forbid him from doing so, to watch me play softball with the “lesbian-only” team years later?
Or with the fact that nearly every woman on that team showed up at his memorial service when he died, feeling as though they’d lost their own father?
Every time I hear someone say that “Christianity is not a popularity contest” I have to wonder if they are saying that to cover their own pain at being lonely because they have shut so many off from their lives because of their “devotion to THE LORD”.
Based on that definition, my dad was either a terrible Christian or just the most rebellious one that ever lived. Not a person who met him left his presence without being changed for the better and feeling a renewed sense of belonging.
And to think, on his deathbed some of his final words were, “I thought I was supposed to leave a mark?”
You did, Daddy… The man in this letter and thousands of others like him are that mark, and I only hope that I heal from my wounds well enough to be one of them and continue in the footsteps I started following when I was a little girl.
Wow. Thank you for sharing the beauty of your father. Anger does not serve us well. It gets in the way of progress if it ‘stays stuck’. You, Ellen are the image of your father. You are doing his work, and will grow more and more into it.
He clearly was an amazing man, at the time he was a faith leader, he could not have had such a far reaching, life changing impacts on so many people. Without the label “Christian”. It might be losing its appeal these days, and probably rightly so, but that label was the badge your father needed to wear in order to be the God’s Angelic gift on earth.
You will learn more and more the answer to everything is love. To clear yourself of anger and to heal the injustice you feel so deeply.
“There’s a crack (or cracks) in everyone…that’s how the light of God gets in.” ― Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love
Your emotions have carried you to this point. Without such emotional significance for you, there is no way that you would be moving towards this work with such passion and desire to make change. The kind of change your father did.
From reading this blog it seems that he saw the power in the silence and his greatness wasn’t all screaming and shouting, it was quietly ‘DOING’ his work here to change lives. He came from a place of pure love. Where anything is possible and everything can be healed.
“When the Japanese mend broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something’s suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful.” ~Barbara Bloom
You are still walking the steps. Your journey was always meant to be a long and winding one. The impact for you both to have in this world- the same, just different routes to get there.
“Blessed are the cracked, for they shall let in the light. ”
― Groucho Marx
You are already doing this. By moving into love and allowing the negative stuff to flow, you will heal not only your wounds, but the wounds of many others on the way. Do not fear your light, you are following in amazing footsteps, and he will always be in you and work through you too. Just allow yourself to be all that you are.
Namaste sister Ellen.
Bless your heart….. a step at a time, eh?
Dear Ellen,
I’m so glad that you choose to tread in places that feel tender and painful. I never had the honor of meeting your dad in person but through your sharing of him I feel like I had a chance to get to know just a bit of him, and through him, you.
My heart says that rather than seeing you as wounded and reeling, your dad see’s (in present tense) how beautiful, wise and strong you are.
Going into those “places that scare us” to quote Pema Chodrun, we find all that is required to heal, actively going on. We bring light to the pain and the wound, explore it, witness it’s story and in the tending of it, it can heal.
I got to know you because you told your dad’s story and Carolyn published it. A friend read it (back in 2008) and sent it to me, knowing my dad had been in Korea.
In your dad’s story, told through your heartfelt voice, I experienced a deep recognition of my dad, and the man that I had been trying to understand my whole life.
I began reading and tears began to fall, and from silent tears came rocking sobs. After all of those years, I GOT a part of my father who had had remained in the shadows. I also understood myself, and forgave myself for any judgments I had had, thinking all of those years that It was something I had done or not done to make things right in our home because of his pain.
Your willingness to go into those places where you felt the pain of the wound were a gift of healing that continues to touch me to this day. Your humor, laughter, gift with words and more touch me and others every day.
I know for myself that when I have gone to the places that were painful, scabbed, crusted, because I was afraid to look, I found not only pain, I found myself. Me as more than the pain.
Pain was a symptom of my soul and my physical body reaching out to me, asking for my attention. Once I got through the first layers of the pain, the scabs, I got to the tender flesh underneath and I realized the healing that was taking place when I cleaned away the bits of dirt and grass and addressed myself tenderly.
God knows it took a lot of persistence on my part. Sometimes I felt like I was down for the count. Those were the time when I was trying to cover up the pain and not go there. Not talk about it. Rail against it inside but say nothing. I went deep and dark in those times.
The turning of the corner, or wheel if you will, came when I said okay, I can do this, and allowed the tears to come. When I reached out to those I loved, and to those that loved me. . .and asked for them to be on the other end of the phone if I needed them.
I began, through words, writing, story, to look at and examine my life, the life of my dad, and others in our family, our clan.
I’ve watched you do something similar. I’ve watched you move with love, compassion, and humor.
Not only is that the essence Jesus, and many who teach and offer loving kindness and compassion. it was and is your dad, and you. It is in each of us. We are not separate. The passages of the bible that were left intact where Jesus said, (paraphrased) we are one and you can do this and more.
Think back to the times when you have sat in a lecture hall listening to someone teach a course based on book knowledge, and research papers, written by someone else. Were you moved? Were you excited? Did you feel connected with the material?
Now think back to the times when you sat in a similar lecture hall, or you perched on a grassy hill, or sat on a fence rail, and you were so deeply absorbed by what was being taught that an earthquake could have happened, or a tornado gone ripping through and you would not have moved. You felt at one with the teacher and the material being taught. Whether the teacher was in the lecture hall, or on your families land. Were you moved? Did you leave the classroom intent on reading more, ready to sign up for more classes that this professor taught?For me that is the difference between disconnect and connection.
The places where I have learned and been touched the most in the world have come from those teachers who have lived what they are teaching. Still and quite or loud and booming. The level of the voice does not make a difference. It’s the message itself, and It’s the connection to the message. Living the message. The message becomes like a radio wave, beaconing out to the world.
Jesus lived that message. Buddha, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, all people that had a lot of public attention focused on them. For everyone of those people, tens of thousands more stood in a softer light and spoke, wrote, or in other ways, told their stories.
That sweet father who comforted your father as a young man. He touched your father and reached out over years and distance and touched my heart. Your dad did the same, as did you. In the midst of the pain was and is compassion. Compassion, that in my experience, is truly profound and healing when it comes from a wound that is so deep. Perhaps the equal measure of healing is related to the depth of pain experienced and then healed.
I know that I am stronger for what I have experienced in my life. The pain revealed many gifts. That does not mean that am without the pain that I sometimes feel. It means that I can weigh the pain through the measure of the gifts and most days be greatful for the sum total.
Your dad might not have had the great sense of all those that he touched and helped during his time here when he was dying, but my deep hope is that he does now, and that you too, know how many you have touched through your words and art.
You asked, “Where do I begin?”
My experience is that we begin where we are. You began when you were born and the beautiful journey that your lovely self is continues.
Thank you so much dear heart for your willingness to be here now.