Sunday Musings - June 28, 2020
All except
Although I begin each day inviting myself to be present and attempting to do so without judgment or expectations, Sundays invite me to gather all the emotions and thoughts of the preceding week and more intentionally weave them into the fabric of who I am.
Yesterday Carnegie Museums of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania invited us back. One had to make a reservation, commit to wearing a mask and maintain social distance. There were also signs on interactive or normally touchable exhibits to refrain from touching. This felt safe and seemed to work well.
One of the exhibits was entitled “On Contested Terrain” by Vietnamese photographer An-My Lê. My experience of her work was being invited to view the humanity of all those involved in every war and war related experience against the backdrop of what has been present long before the conflicts and will be present long after them. I was struck by the titles which also invited one to view the whole from a new perspective.
Additionally, for the third or fourth time I visited the exhibit featuring some of the works of the Pittsburgh journalist and photographer, “Tennie” Harris. He viewed Pittsburgh, particularly the Pittsburgh of those identified as black and, thus, subject to all that racism and survival entails. Many of his photographs seem to say “We are here, and we are choreographing our dance among and in the midst of your walls.
On this Sunday morning I am reminded of another dance, that of Jean Och, a local artist (and long time friend) whose life dance was ended after a span of 90 years when she was struck by an automobile while she was jaywalking; perhaps sketching a new painting; not paying close attention to the traffic.
Yet another dance which comes to the forefront of my mind today are of those who believe that they live in a vacuum which should allow them while living in the midst of the visit of covid-19 to move about without masks and not having to practice social distance. Some of these would use violence to assert their right to potentially infect others.
A final dance which is in the forefront of my thoughts and weighs heavy on my heart this Sunday is that of a recently defrocked priest Henry Foxhoven who is serving 9 years in prison for “3 counts of sexual battery” He impregnated a 17-year-old young woman. The news article I read was focused on his being defrocked by Pope Francis and Bishop Monforton. I have no idea if Henry Foxhoven has a compulsive sexual addictive disorder, if he and the young woman fell in love and had consensual sex (arbitrary age of consent not withstanding) or anything else. I have no idea of his demons or his historic understanding of the sacredness of all people regardless of age, gender, or other social constructs. I hope that the hearts of Pope Francis, Bishop Monforton are heavy because they see this man and the young woman as sacred children of the God of their understanding; the same god who instructs to love your enemy; to judge lest you be judged; and advises those without sin to throw the first stone.
All of these life dances; all these reminders we are temporary caretakers of each other and Mother Earth; that our lack of faith in our own sacredness makes it possible to mouth a set of beliefs to which we daily make exceptions; to not judge except for; to love except for; to posit a God who makes exceptions; to think that one person, community, state, country or empire is more deserving of grace; more deserving of the resources of the universe; is more deserving of forgiveness.
As always, I use these observations to be more aware of how often I fall into the trap of acting as if I am more deserving; of acting as if I can be unaware of my white privilege; of acting as if I am in a position to be judgmental of those I perceive to be judgmental. An-My Lê and the other dancers remind me to view and dance a larger reality.
Written June 28, 2020
Jimmy F Pickett
coachpickett.org
All except
Although I begin each day inviting myself to be present and attempting to do so without judgment or expectations, Sundays invite me to gather all the emotions and thoughts of the preceding week and more intentionally weave them into the fabric of who I am.
Yesterday Carnegie Museums of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania invited us back. One had to make a reservation, commit to wearing a mask and maintain social distance. There were also signs on interactive or normally touchable exhibits to refrain from touching. This felt safe and seemed to work well.
One of the exhibits was entitled “On Contested Terrain” by Vietnamese photographer An-My Lê. My experience of her work was being invited to view the humanity of all those involved in every war and war related experience against the backdrop of what has been present long before the conflicts and will be present long after them. I was struck by the titles which also invited one to view the whole from a new perspective.
Additionally, for the third or fourth time I visited the exhibit featuring some of the works of the Pittsburgh journalist and photographer, “Tennie” Harris. He viewed Pittsburgh, particularly the Pittsburgh of those identified as black and, thus, subject to all that racism and survival entails. Many of his photographs seem to say “We are here, and we are choreographing our dance among and in the midst of your walls.
On this Sunday morning I am reminded of another dance, that of Jean Och, a local artist (and long time friend) whose life dance was ended after a span of 90 years when she was struck by an automobile while she was jaywalking; perhaps sketching a new painting; not paying close attention to the traffic.
Yet another dance which comes to the forefront of my mind today are of those who believe that they live in a vacuum which should allow them while living in the midst of the visit of covid-19 to move about without masks and not having to practice social distance. Some of these would use violence to assert their right to potentially infect others.
A final dance which is in the forefront of my thoughts and weighs heavy on my heart this Sunday is that of a recently defrocked priest Henry Foxhoven who is serving 9 years in prison for “3 counts of sexual battery” He impregnated a 17-year-old young woman. The news article I read was focused on his being defrocked by Pope Francis and Bishop Monforton. I have no idea if Henry Foxhoven has a compulsive sexual addictive disorder, if he and the young woman fell in love and had consensual sex (arbitrary age of consent not withstanding) or anything else. I have no idea of his demons or his historic understanding of the sacredness of all people regardless of age, gender, or other social constructs. I hope that the hearts of Pope Francis, Bishop Monforton are heavy because they see this man and the young woman as sacred children of the God of their understanding; the same god who instructs to love your enemy; to judge lest you be judged; and advises those without sin to throw the first stone.
All of these life dances; all these reminders we are temporary caretakers of each other and Mother Earth; that our lack of faith in our own sacredness makes it possible to mouth a set of beliefs to which we daily make exceptions; to not judge except for; to love except for; to posit a God who makes exceptions; to think that one person, community, state, country or empire is more deserving of grace; more deserving of the resources of the universe; is more deserving of forgiveness.
As always, I use these observations to be more aware of how often I fall into the trap of acting as if I am more deserving; of acting as if I can be unaware of my white privilege; of acting as if I am in a position to be judgmental of those I perceive to be judgmental. An-My Lê and the other dancers remind me to view and dance a larger reality.
Written June 28, 2020
Jimmy F Pickett
coachpickett.org
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