Furtive Movements: The New Jim Crow Over & Over (part I)

Maybe you were like me when the George Zimmerman trial was going on, shocked (not necessarily surprised) that the defense would come up with something so totally messed up as to say that Trayvon Martin was not unarmed because he used the ground upon which he was standing (and defending himself against an unprovoked aggressor) “as a weapon.”

In case you missed it then, or want to be reminded, here it is, described in an article from The Daily Beast:

Martin, who was on his way to his father’s house after buying a bag of Skittles candies and a can of drink, was not unarmed, said [Mark] O’Mara [defense counsel]. He was armed with a concrete sidewalk, on which he slammed Zimmerman’s head.

It drove me crazy.  Certainly, this must be an oddity.  A freak of the legal system that was just one element that fed the whacked ultimate findings of that court that acquitted Zimmerman.

Yeah, right.

Just this week, I heard on the radio a report about young Black men killed by police officers.  The report was based on an investigation conducted by the intrepid folks at ProPublica (winner of 2010 and 2011 Pulitzer Prizes).

Lots of bad news and overwhelming evidence for racist trends and patterns.  Again, shocking (I never want to lose that sense of shock), but not surprising.

Like, how Black men in this nation have a twenty-one times higher risk of being shot by a police officer than a white man has.  Twenty-one. Not 21% higher risk. Twenty-one times higher.

2100I knew there would be a heart-achingly, enragingly higher risk for men of color, but I would not have guessed at that number.

As if that were not bad enough, the thing that took my breath away, despite my cynical stance on these things, was that in at least one case, one police department (NYPD) when providing documentation after a police officer shoet and killed someone, they noted that the now-dead suspect had as a weapon, “furtive movements.”

Furtive movements.

Not as a precursor to gaining access to a weapon.  Not as a reason that drew the police officer’s attention.  Listed as weapon.

Just so we all are clear — especially those of us (me included) with race privilege who have short attention spans and big blind spots – this is not a modern-day invention. There is history here. Far too much history.

not this mischief

not this mischief

For example, in Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness, she describes the era on the hinge of Reconstruction being abandoned (federal troops were pulled out of the South) and the era of “Southern Redemption” being firmly, brutally established.  Racialized vagrancy laws were continually defined and refined to make mundane activities into criminal ones. “Mischief” and “insulting gestures,” were made into criminal offenses.  You can view a “book trailer” (about 3 minutes long) to get to know Alexander’s book’s premise here.

The folks over at this blog I was newly introduced to — Interracial Jawn (self-described as “an interracial couple discusses pop culture, tv, movies and current events from their unique perspectives as a very white guy and a mostly black woman”) – put together this informative Ferguson Flashcard (it’s #3).

used with permission of the authors

used with permission of the authors

This shows us the hateful roots of today’s systematic racism in yesterday’s and last century’s and last two and three centuries’ systematic racism. This so happens to show the parallels between the 1850 Fugitive Slave Act and modern-day “tactics of law enforcement.”

You don’t have to agree 100% with the analogy to still see the truth of what their flashcard reveals: never was it true that electing a Black president meant the end of racism in this country.  This is not about individuals and bias.  This is about systemic racism that continues to infect our nation.  It is not easy to face; it is even harder to endure.

We are called, as people of faith and people of conscience, regardless of our place in this culture and nation, to not turn away and do what we can to undo this and make the world new, standing (and sitting and leaning and laying) on the side of love as we do.

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Forget the Blessings (poetry)

for T.C.

Forget pious blessing chatter.

The nice-nice that assures polite company

the world still spins properly.


It doesn’t.

It’s off kilter.

Your son is gone.

All is not right

in the world.


Should you take my advice,

don’t just set it aside.

Cast that shit away.


Throw the mother-fucker

to the furthest reaches

of the field,

or the river bank,

or your tiny backyard,

keening as your arm

whips back in shock.


Don’t just forget

the pious chatter:

smother it.


Let it fall

to the hard ground.

Place your workman’s

heel on it

and crush

the damn thing.


Lift your foot,

stomp the remains,

guttural excess

leaking unbidden

from your throat.


What is left to you,

what is left in you,

is nothing

but surrender:






There are no blessings.

Not today.

Posted in Chaplaincy, Poetry | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

Nobody, but Nobody, Can Make It Out Here Alone (sermon)

First Parish Church of Groton, Groton, MA

Karen G. Johnston, Intern Minister

October 12, 2014

(a link to the audio of this sermon is here)

Let me begin with gratitude. For you, this body of people who makes a place for me and my calling to ministry. For this body that carried me to this place, up these stairs, and to this moment. For this planet earth, with its bodies of water, its landmasses, its place in this vast universe.

Thank you for this journey we have begun together, I as your intern minister and each of you as my teachers, my companions, my inspirations, and no doubt, my source of curiosity and delight. Thank you for the trust you are extending to me – you, Unitarian Universalists, who are free in your pews and I, Unitarian Universalist, who is free in this pulpit – may I earn that trust.

May we grow great things together.


So this is the assignment. The theological theme for this month’s worship is sanctuary. So when you – that is to say, when I – prepare worship for today, be sure to include sanctuary. Whatever that means to you.

Oh, right, this will be your first time in the pulpit, so remember that they want to get to know you.  Tell them something, but not too much. Be sure that you don’t talk about yourself so much that people can’t hear their own lives in what you are saying.

Don’t forget that for more than one person sitting in those pews, a heart is breaking.  Be of comfort to them.

And, by the way (I am learning to pay attention to the by-the-ways…), the children will have built a sukkah for the Jewish holiday of Sukkot. It will be on display for the congregation and the community. There will be an invitation after worship to spend some time in the sukkah. Weave that into the service, if you can…

Nope. Not daunted. Not me. I have been known to take on a challenge or two (like adopting two children out of the foster care system as an only parent – they were two and nearly four when I first met them; they are 18 and 20 now).

So I was like: bring it on!

And then I was like: Oh. My. Goodness.

What to do when daunted? When in need of a dose of courage? When I need to show up, even when I think I can’t or don’t want to, but have to, I remember Maya Angelou’s wise words (from her poem, Alone, read earlier in the service):

quote-nobody-but-nobody-can-make-it-out-here-alone-maya-angelou-323359It’s not just for courage-making. It’s good for grief-consoling. And hope-inducing. And heart-mending, this coming together with one and for one another.

Though church language often has “sanctuary” to mean this location where we are gathered – a room, a material space – much more compelling to me is sanctuary as embodiment and as process. Sanctuary as human interaction, rather than bricks and mortar, is so much more in line with our Unitarian Universalist covenant of relationality and accountability to one another and the wider world.

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Sometimes sanctuary is concrete, is shelter around us. Like the sukkah which is traditionally connected to harvest time. And gratitude, as well, for the shelter that was found and made during the forty years of wandering the wilderness after the exodus from Egypt.

Similar shelters in daily life were a source of protection for shepherds – people who could not remove themselves to a safe place, but had to create it with found objects and faith in their god, as they continued their task of providing for the betterment of their community.

We could say that sukkah gave the shepherds two kinds of sanctuary, two kinds of freedom: freedom from wild animals and the unfriendly elements of weather, and freedom to provide for the needs of the community’s suImaniPerry-240x300rvival. I first learned those two concepts of freedom – freedom from and freedom to – from an interview with Dr. Imani Perry, professor of African American Studies at Princeton University.

Typically, at least in American society, we think of freedom as freedom from – she calls it libertarian in nature: this kind of freedom says “leave me alone” or “don’t tread on me.” It says you can’t impose your values or religion or needs on me. This kind of freedom is particularly important in a society with over-empowered majorities and disenfranchised minorities. The religious right of conscience that informs our fifth Unitarian Universalist principle is rooted firmly in this concept.

Yet freedom to is given short shrift in society at large and sometimes within our own UU congregations. Dr. Perry calls this second kind of freedom “liberationist” because it is about undoing domination “that gets in the way of us living healthy lives…and how can we actually create things that are meaningful and joyful.”

With this form of freedom, we are called to engage, rather than disengage. This freedom, no more and certainly no less, is a natural consequence of our seventh principle proclaiming and affirming the interconnected web of existence of which we are all a part.  It is often true that we are only able to create those things that are meaningful and joyful when we have experienced a sense of sanctuary.

Sometimes sanctuary is freedom from something – from ragged days, from consumer culture, from time spent without intention.

Sometimes sanctuary is freedom to do something, on someone’s behalf, to create safety for oneself and others, to grow compassion and justice in the world.

As I mentioned in this morning’s pastoral prayer, Unitarian Universalists – and thousands of other people of faith and conscience – are gathering this weekend in Ferguson, Missouri.  Yesterday there were 3000 people marching, 60 of whom were UU.  Now 60 doesn’t sound like so much, but percentage-wise, we are talking 2%.  Let me tell you, in the U.S. we UUs are nowhere near two percent of the population!

They gathered, marking the site of where 18-year-old Michael Brown, unarmed, was shot and killed by police; where one side of a community reacted with militarized police force to the deep aching rage of race betrayal in our country, bringing not justice or understanding or healing, but further salt to a wound we all – and our nation — carries.

Now if you listen closely
I’ll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
‘Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

I remember one image from the just days after Mike Brown was murdered. It was after the initial police response and the protests in response. The image is a photograph, taken not far from the patch of pavement where Mike Brown’s body lay for hours before being properly tended to.

It is where four poles and a tent roof were put together and a voter registration booth was erected. It was a somewhat ramshackvoter-registration-fergusonle sanctuary, built by people whose aspirations were to continue to build up their community and their people, bit by bit, vote by vote, voice by voice. Instead of scarred, the voter registration sanctuary marked that place as sacred.

Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

My message this morning to the young ones was not just a walk down memory lane for some of us as we, too, tried to entwine our aging fingers together in the form of a church and steeple, being reminded again that we are not as limber as we once were.

marquis1hands1It was a theological statement. Church is not the steeple, it’s not the physical building. To find true church, true sanctuary, we need to abide by the wisdom of that simple childhood hand game: see the people, see not the edifice. Be the people in full embodiment, in our being here for each other and for the wider world.

I want to share with you another example from Ferguson. Rev. Barbara Gadon is the lead minister at our UU congregation, Eliot Chapel in Kirkwood, MO – just down the road from Ferguson. I have never met Barbara, but as the ripples began to take shape after Mike Brown’s murder, I watched through online forums how she was working so diligently to support her UU congregation’s response to this tragedy.

I reached out to her over social media, offered gratitude and support. Because I was in the right place at the right time, I ended up connecting her with our UU Standing on the Side of Love point people (anyone could have done it; it just happened to be me), so that the wider word about UU justice efforts in Ferguson could get out. Rev. Gadon continues to share updates on the work of her and other local UU churches through the Standing on the Side of Love web site, including notice and reports about this weekend’s activities.

This is what Reverend Gadon recently shared with the Standing on the Side of Love community. On the surface, she’s not talking about sanctuary. The word never enters into what she wrote. But I wonder if you can hear it here, see it in the choice her congregation is making, with its weekly Tuesday-evening-vigils and their bright yellow Standing on the Side of Love t-shirts:

“A few weeks ago, the prosecuting attorney in St. Louis County announced yet another extension for the grand jury [deciding the judicial fate of the police officer who shot Michael Brown], this time for January 7. Delay is a time-honored strategy to dissipate energy and to take advantage of the public’s short attention span. It felt like a calculating move, lacking in respect for all those waiting and praying to know if there would be justice for Michael Brown. When I arrived at our Tuesday night vigil at the church, it had started to work on me. I had gone from outraged to raggedy and disheartened. I thought: who is going to even show up after this?

Rev. Gadon continued,

Then I started seeing people arrive, one by one, two by two. And when our lawn had filled with people in yellow t-shirts, carrying bright yellow banners, it was like the sun came out again. My heart was lifted. I could keep going. I remembered my favorite line of Eleanor Roosevelt’s: ‘Courage is as contagious as fear.’”

standing_on_the_side_of_loveDo you hear the layers and layers of sanctuary?  The disheartened loss of hope that was eased by people showing up, one by one, then two by two, being sanctuary for one another? How this church, largely white and in a well-to-do suburb of St. Louis, understood its sanctuary in solidarity – every Tuesday evening for the past two months – with the hurting, angry people of Ferguson, the majority of whom are people of color and many of whom are living in poverty? How those Midwestern UUs could don their yellow Love shirts and know they were held in a wider, loving ocean of other UUs across the nation, who Stand on the Side of Love?

Nobody, but nobody

Can make it out here alone.

When we create sanctuary together, offer it to others, seek it for ourselves, when we exercise both freedom from and freedom to, I believe we are on the right path. Sanctuary just might be about creating space for us to gather and be our best justice-seeking selves. It just might be about creating safe space for people of differing abilities to find their gifts and share them in covenantal community. It could be about making space for joy or pain, for anger or doubt, for hopelessness and gratitude and all along, we say,

“Yes: you belong here, among us.  We are your sanctuary and you are ours.”

I leave with you this vision given to us by the wise Elie Wiesel:

“What then is sanctuary? The sanctuary is often something very small. Not a grandiose gesture, but a small gesture toward alleviating human suffering and preventing humiliation. The sanctuary is a human being. Sanctuary is a dream. And that is why you are here and that is why I am here. We are here because of one another. We are in truth each other’s shelter.”

 May it be so.




Elie Wiesel quote from “Caution Church Ahead,” by Victoria Safford, in the book, The Abundance of our Faith

Concepts of freedom to and freedom from come from interview by Krista Tippett with Dr. Imani Perry, http://www.onbeing.org/program/imani-perry-the-fabric-of-our-identity/transcript/6758

“Alone,” by Maya Angelou, published in Oh Pray My Wings Are Gonna Fit Me Well, 1975.



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Metal May Well Revert (poetry)

I am posting this poem here, as my dear friend’s mother died last night.  I wrote it 5+ years ago for my friend about her mother.  The time has come for my friend’s grieving…

Metal May Well Revert

for Naomi
to its natural state.
Rust, oxidation, salt hastening
its back, back, back to earth.

Bone is less exact.
Fractured, yes, even broken,
it returns: bone to bone,
parts to whole.

It is written
dust to dust.
So it is with bone,
shards turn porous,
devoured by bacteria,
time, our fading memories.

Shattered, however,
it becomes metal
not via its own volition,
but surgical intervention.

Carbon composite,
eventual, actual stardust,
the stuff of which heavens are made:
one moment expanding nebula,
same moment elderly mother’s broken hip
all night on cold linoleum –
she didn’t want to be a bother.

Her stardust does not heal like it once did.
Her mind does not recollect like it used to.
All that iron, zinc, copper, nickel trace:
once loamy soil, then homegrown kale,
then heart, tendon, lung, bone.
None of it, what it used to be.
Until she reverts back
to her natural state,
Alice remains.

Turns out we are all
scatter and combine,
the dust she once was,
is now, ever will be.

The time will come,
when you will grieve,
your tears will make mud,
your fingers smearing
the stuff of her body,
the life of yours,
the whole of the universe
on the wall of our mutual world,
marking our coming,
marking our going.

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Prayer Inspired by Shantideva Prayer

This pastoral prayer is adapted from prayers of Shantideva, an 8th century Buddhist monk and major source of inspiration to the Dalai Lama, who references the original prayer often. There are many translations, some of which contain the whole text; some of which do not. This is my particular riff today. Feel free to use it or adapt it yourself. Let me know when you do (you can leave a comment here). Proper attribution is most appreciated.

May I be a guard for those who need protection; when I seek protection, may I find it and share it.

For those who wish to cross to a further shore, may I be a boat, a raft, a bridge. May I be open to the companionship of others as I make my way to places still before me.

May I be a lamp in the darkness for all who seek it; may that light be never extinguished from my own sight and my own heart.

May I be a resting place for the weary and be healing medicine for all who are sick; may I know the salve of others for my own afflictions, whether of the body or of the mind, or of the heart.

Where others see scarcity, may I see a vase of plenty, a tree of miracles.

As part of the boundless multitudes of living beings, may I bring sustenance and awakening, freedom from sorrow, and may I delight in our common existence.

Holding most tenderly those with broken hearts, let us sit together in stillness.

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Inexplicably Towards the Great Turning

There are three stories that describe this point in the earth’s narrative: Business as Usual; the Great Unraveling; and the Great Turning.

Business as Usual is a familiar paradigm. This story values growth over all other things. But only particular kinds of growth. Not growth in wisdom. Or health. Or happiness. But growth in terms of profit, of accumulation of material goods, of THINGS.

The Great Unraveling comes to us from those alerting us to all that has been lost, is being lost, will be lost if we don’t change and change now (and likely, change yesterday).   This story line reveals that we may already be, already are, at the point of no return.

The Great Turning, called also the Life Sustaining Society, gets overshadowed by the other two more often than not, but not always. The Great Turning is about Creation adapting and complexifying in both form and intelligence. It has been underway for decades and continues to gain momentum.

All three stories are true says Buddhist scholar, eco-philosopher, and a long-time environmental activist, Joanna Macy. Published over thirty years ago, her first book, Despair and Personal Power in the Nuclear Age unleashed her as the healing force for our planet that she has become: writing books, resisting militarization and nuclear energy, developing capacity in young leaders, envisioning new ways to honor this planet and our life on it. Her work challenges and invites us to put all our energies behind that third story, that its truth and reality might be stronger than the other two.

Last weekend, along with 79 others, including over a dozen young adults identified as the Earth Leadership Cohort, I was with Joanna at the Unitarian Universalist conference center in Rowe, MA. The workshop was called, “World as Lover, World as Self,” and is a long-established element of her repertoire.   It was a highly experiential weekend of education, transformation, and what I consider worship. About a third of those folks, along with others, stayed on for the whole week and are still there. Bless them and their efforts.

I don’t know about you, but as much as I would like to be fully convinced of the Great Turning, I get stuck in the other stories. The Business as Usual story seems normative — I’ve been breathing its oxygen my whole life. It takes real effort to see it as only a version of reality, rather than reality itself. That other story – the Great Unraveling – has become too true – what scientists are saying, what activists are exclaiming, what the people of Oceania are experiencing.

Thank god or Gaia, because Joanna Macy has some compelling ideas to help. They aren’t ideas that offer promise or guarantee or anything of that nature. There is no easy salve and she never suggests otherwise.

Along with the Great Turning, the Great Unraveling is happening too, and there is no way to tell how the larger story will end. So we learn again that hardest and most rewarding of lessons: how to make friends with uncertainty; how to pour your whole passion into a project when you can’t be sure it’s going to work. How to free yourself from dependence on seeing the results of your actions. These learnings are crucial, for living systems are ever unfolding in new patterns and connections. There is no point from which to foresee with clarity the possibilities to emerge under future conditions. (“Hearing the Call,” Macy)

All I know is that when I have been knocked to my knees by despair and fear, reading Joanna’s words, or listening to her talk, or practicing some of the activities she suggests we do in community, I find that I can get up and try again.


How we rise each morning,

instead of burying our heads

under bedcovers,

sewing them shut.

Why we keep on

welcoming babies

with bone-deep joy

to this sordid world.

How we fill burlap sacks

with grit and gratitude,

our hands shredded

as we drag one over the other.

How we refuse the daily pull

towards greedy dark,

keeping at least one toe,

some of us whole torso,

in the light.

(excerpt from Inexplicable, by Karen G. Johnston)

Joanna Macy divides the Great Turning into three spheres of influence, into which each of us is invited to enter. Each sphere is its own self, but also overlaps in that quintessential Venn diagram manner. Slide1

First, there are holding actions. Their aim is to slow down the Great Unraveling. They may be legislative in nature, or fall into the realm of social activism.   This sphere is full of heroic people, noble efforts, and sadly, so often: exhaustion, depletion, and the experience of more failure than success (at least, so far). This sphere is acutely necessary, and thank you to those of you for whom this is your life’s work — yet, by itself, it is insufficient.

The second sphere is what Macy calls, “Gaian ways,” both newly emergent and ancient ways of considering commerce, construction, generating energy, organizing our collective lives together. These are the folks who are doing permaculture farming; building solar arrays in partnership with communities; who write open source software or take part in the Commons movement; who are making a way where there is no way.   Even this, also indispensable, is not enough, even when paired with holding actions.

The third sphere is a shift in consciousness. It is bringing Spirit to bear on this mighty endeavor, transforming our engagement with the interdependent web of all existence. It is art, it is spirituality, it is the healing arts, it is embodying how expansive family can be and how we welcome the stranger in our midst. It is a deep and abiding sense that when we look into the ocean or the clinging moss, a decaying tree trunk or the intrepid ant, we are looking at ourselves.

Blessedly, each one of us does not need to be all three spheres (though there are some bold people who fall into overlapping space and some even into all three at the center of these circles – if that’s you, then

rock-on-artbut be sure to take time to chill out and pace yourself; we need you here,with us).

Yet the planet is calling us, maybe even begging, to find ourselves somewhere in the Great Turning: as part of those brave souls repelling the Great Unraveling; as one of those visionary folks who are making new ways upon which the Great Turning will happen; as one of those people who helps renewal of body, mind, heart, and soul that we may continue this journey, the only one we have.


It’s what makes a poem

worth writing, worth reading,

worth flooding the world

with redundant, flawed attempts

at explanation.


It’s just the way it is.

There is no other way.

Stumbling every time,

practice or no.

Just part of the bargain…

the unavoidable,




(excerpt from Inexplicable, by Karen G. Johnston)


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Cri de Coeur: On Swearing and Godtalk

I probably spend too much time swearing.  And thinking about swearing.  And appreciating particularly clever or inventive swearing.  I mean, I am a seminarian and we are, supposedly, not supposed to swear.  Or curse.  Or say bad words.
That must be in some parallel Universe.   Or just in a different denomination.

As I have written about elsewhere, I raised my kids with rules about swearing. They were not the old-fashioned wash-your-mouth-out kind, and neither were they the shaming-slash-guilt inducing kind.  They were two simple ones: don’t swear at someone (too aggressive and disrespectful).  Don’t swear at school (within listening distance of teachers or staff).

Swearing is far-too-far of a creative element of language to forgo completely.

I just learned that when Duke Ellington and Mahalia Jackson got together in 1958 to record an album of sacred music, there was a moment when, as the liner notes say, that Ms. Jackson “got secular with her Lord.”

I love that phrase.  Got secular with.  Ever since I read it, even though I’m not a big fan of the Lord (except this Lorde), I kinda want to get all secular with Him, too.

mahaliajacksonThis is to say, Ms. Jackson took the lord’s name in vain.  She spoke it like it was a swear.  Something wasn’t going so well and in frustration, she can be heard (on the outtake included in the CD) to say, “Oh, Jesus.”

Not: oh, Jesus, thank you.  Not: oh, Jesus, what have I done?  Not: oh, Jesus, I surrender to your loving care.

But: oh, shit.  For realz?  Na-uh.

I just finished watching the Robert Redford film, All is Lost.  It’s about (*spoiler alert*) a solitary man on a sailboat in the middle of the ocean whose vessel is damaged by a rogue packing container floating menacingly-free, bleeding its cargo into the open waters.  Our guy’s boat eventually sinks and he faces his destiny alone on the sea.  Aside from a brief bit of monologue at the very beginning when Redford narrates a good-bye note, the whole film is without dialogue.

Save one word.

One economic, exquisitely-chosen word.  It is not, “Oh, Jesus.”  Not even, “Oh, God.”  It is…


(Actually, it is both hands hold either side of head, head thrown back to the heavens, posture of surrender, and a throaty, long, “ffffffuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkk!”)

This guy is alone and I guess you could say that he’s talking to himself.  I mean, who else is listening?  But then I read this remark, from Peter VanKatwyck of Waterloo Lutheran Seminary,

“God-talk then is theological self-talk. As self-referential God-talk, finite and flawed human existence reaches out to what is unconditional and infinite,”

and I think that sometimes when we are talking to ourselves, we just might be talking into a vaster reality beyond ourselves.  Certainly, when we are facing our defeat, or taxed beyond what we think we have inside ourselves, or are coming to grips with death, I think the words we say — even the swears we utter — are sent outward and inward, which is to say, they are sent to that divine source some call god.

I don’t think the utterance from the movie — or even what Ms. Jackson — said counts as a swear.  Either that, or we need to expand our understanding of some swearing.

…rather than “secular,” the cry “Oh Jesus” can be heard as a religious cri de coeur, transcending a finite moment of distress, appealing to all that is sacred—a cry overwhelmed by the heart’s emotions. Such swearing encapsulates a moment of speaking theologically from the heart.

In both these cases, these individuals just might be speaking to god and not necessarily in some disrespectful, “secular” way.

So I am willing to acknowledge that not all swearing is godtalk, if the rest of you will give me a “Hell, yeah!” when I say that some of it is.
can-i-get-a-hell-yeah-box-sign* These thoughts were inspired by, and quotes were taken from, the article, “Godtalk in Therapeutic Conversations,” written by Peter VanKatwyck, published in the The Journal of Pastoral Care & Counseling, Spring-Summer 2008, Vol. 62.


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