FRIDAY NOTES --- MAY 24, 2019
Once again, it is Friday, and once again, I am sorry to say I have nothing to report on the litigation of the schism. It has been almost two months since we have seen any public action from any court. We are still waiting on the circuit court, the South Carolina Supreme Court, and the U.S. District Court to act. They will act, of course, but in their own time and in their own way. Meanwhile, we have no choice but to wait, however impatiently. As always, I will relay news as I receive it.
To continue with some of the themes of last Friday, it is clearer than ever that the schism in South Carolina was primarily a socio-cultural event. It was, and is, part of a reactionary backlash against the democratic reforms of the post-Second World War era, particularly in equality for and inclusion of African Americans, women, and homosexuals. The DSC leaders led their diocese away from the Episcopal Church in opposition to the egalitarian reforms that the Church had adopted.
For blacks, DSC virtually ignored the ones who followed the schism (the only two historically black parishes in the old diocese, Calvary and St. Mark's, remained with TEC). For gays, DSC adopted a harsh, Draconian "Statement of Faith" condemning homosexuality and denying all rights to open gays. That leaves women as the present targets of DSC's reactionary moves.
Much of the thrust of the DSC leaders' efforts now is to force women into their pre-defined gender roles. Women are to be submissive to men. On the DSC website, "Ministries" breaks down into "Men's Ministries" and "Women's Ministries." Scrolling down to the bottom of Women's, we find "Biblical Womanhood: Mastering the "S" Word---Submission." Here one will see a man in authority and control, lecturing a room full of women on how to be women.
One may notice too, a very gender specific event at Christ/St. Paul's, of Yonges Island, on May 18. Find it here . This screams reactionary gender-role assignment. For men it is "Manly Men Living Authentic Lives, Let's Ger Real." The operative word here is "manly." What is manly? Look at the picture in the notice. Two men are apparently hunting, presumably shooting birds in a marsh. They are armed and carry heavy backpacks. This is the image of the macho man as aggressive, dominant, conquering provider. In the afternoon, women are to meet separately in a "Ladies Spring Fling." They are to "come dressed in 'finery' flowers, feathers, and pearls if you like." This is the image of women as nesters and caretakers. While the men are off hunting, the women are taking care of the home waiting for the conquering man to arrive.
It is clear that the DSC leaders are now engaged in a concerted campaign to force conservative gender roles on the communicants. Men are to be dominant. Women are to be submissive. In fact, this is very much a part of the counter-revolution against the democratic reforms of the late Twentieth Century, just as is the anti-abortion campaign in high gear right now. The reactionaries want women to return to their pre-1960 (when the pill appeared) status and the world of "Father Knows Best" and "Leave it to Beaver." This is not going to happen, of course, but this does not stop the leaders of DSC from trying even if their efforts are humorous and ridiculous.
One may wonder why women in the Lawrence diocese allow themselves to be treated this way. When a women is told constantly by an authority figure that she is less valuable than he is, she will eventually believe it. Her confidence will wane. Her self-concept will be worn away into emptiness. At that, there is nothing left but dependence on the dominator. In this case, religion, that should be lifting up people, is putting down a certain element, actually the majority of church members. Submission, the overt goal of DSC's "women's ministries," appears to be effective. It may be working among the present middle-aged and older women in DSC, but one cannot imagine any young woman volunteering to sign up for this blatant misogyny. This is another red flag for DSC's future.
Why do conservatives want to return women to the pre-democratic revolution days? Good question. I wrote an observation on this subject for this blog on Nov. 1, 2018. Find it here . Society's understandings of what defines masculine and feminine has changed drastically in the last sixty-odd years. Many white working class men have found this shift disorienting and threatening to their own perceived roles in society and they have lashed back against their imagined enemies. One big way in which they can make this reaction tangible is the anti-abortion crusade in which women are removed from the right to control their own bodies. Once again, men will be in control. That is the issue, men's control over women. And, that's the issue at stake now in the DSC in its gender-identity campaign.
This also helps us understand the phenomenon of Pete Buttigieg, the openly gay, and married-to-a-man, presidential candidate. Conservatives see him as a real danger. A few years ago, he would have been laughed off the stage. Not any more. It is said that President Trump is worried most about two rival candidates, Joe Biden and Pete Buttigieg. Why the worry?
The worry is not that Mayor Pete is gay, it is that he breaks all the conservative stereotypes about gays. He is a military veteran, having served in Afghanistan. He exudes a demeanor of traditional masculinity. He is assertive, outspoken, and unafraid to take on opponents. In addition to this "manliness," he is highly intelligent and educated. He is also overtly religious, a devout Episcopalian unafraid to talk about faith. He went head-to-head with VP Pence. Pence lost. Buttigieg is clearly not playing by the rules the reactionaries expect a gay man to follow. The reason they are so afraid of him is that he very effectively destroys their pre-conceived notions of what is masculine and what is feminine. Keep an eye on Pete Buttigieg. At age thirty-seven, he is a man with a future.
Meanwhile, turning from the culture war, let us walk about my garden. This is how it appeared this week. We are continuing to enjoy a beautiful springtime in the south.
A shady place for the hydrangeas. A woman at a well overlooks Blue leaf isu (Distylium myricoides), an unusual spreading evergreen shrub with small blue-green leaves. The oak leaf hydrangeas are in full bloom, the blue ones are not.
The day lillies are beginning to bloom. There are hundreds of varieties of day lillies. These blooms are yellow and rusty red.
The gardenias are also in bloom now. This is Daisy gardenia (Gardenia jasminoides 'Daisy'), an unusual, small shrub.
The most popular form of gardenia in the south is "August Beauty." Of the numerous varieties of gardenia in my garden, this is the most aromatic. It should be planted where the scent can be enjoyed.
Anthony Waterer spiraea is commonly found in southern gardens, and for good reason.
No southern garden would be complete without magnolia. However, the standard magnolia tree will grow too large for many yards and gardens these days. I would not recommend planting it unless one has a great deal of blank space to fill. There is a much smaller version of magnolia tree called "Little Gem" that I would recommend. It is compact enough to fit into a sunny spot in almost any garden. Too, as this one, it will produce an abundance of the sweet smelling flowers.
If you do not know what this is, you should. It is poison ivy. I am showing it here to dispel the myth that my garden is perfect. I'll assure you it is not. When I bought my garden lot, it was a natural woodland profuse with this vine. In spite of my best efforts to eradicate it, it keeps popping up in shady spots here and there. It spreads by underground runners. The slightest glance of any part of this plant produces itchy, red blisters on my skin for two weeks. Unfortunately, the best way to get rid of it is to use one's gloved hands to pull it up by the roots. This is risky. Best to have long gloves and long-sleeved shirt. I have found that if I have any contact, if I go immediately to the faucet and wash the skin with water, this will prevent the rash. If you think I love all plants, you are wrong. I would be perfectly happy living without poison ivy.
On another note, I offer my best wishes for you and yours in the week to come. I have been a bit under the weather this week with a bad cold. It caused me to postpone a plan in my second favorite hobby, train travel. I had planned to ride Amtrak's Crescent to Washington DC and back. I am a "foamer." In railroad speak, a foamer is one, usually an older white man (ahem) who foams at the mouth at the sight of a train. When I was a little child, I formed a lifelong love of trains, particularly the steam locomotive. As a boy, I thought it was the most awesome and magnificent thing in the world, a great living, breathing dragon on wheels. I still think that.
My revered widowed grandmother (my mother's mother) lived in the rural village of Molino (Spanish for mill) FL twenty-five miles north of Pensacola on the Louisville and Nashville Railroad line. I adored her and she returned the love unconditionally. She was the only person I knew who never criticized me or said a harsh word to me. Fortunately, she lived a stone's throw from the L & N depot.
(This Molino depot was built in 1910 and demolished soon after the L & N discontinued all passenger service in 1971. As every train station in the south, it had two waiting rooms. The Molino-Mid-County Historical Museum, Molino FL.)
So, from the time I can remember, I rode back and forth often to her house on the L. & N., "the Old Reliable." In those days, the 1940's, the steam locomotive was still in common use.
(A typical L & N steam locomotive. There were two men in the front, the engineer and the fireman. The latter shoveled the coal from the tender [152 here] into the fire box. A hundred yards south of the depot stood a water tower. The train stopped and the fireman lowered a long arm on the tower to fill the water tank. Steam locomotives devoured huge amounts of coal and water. L & N passenger coaches were typically navy blue or army green with big gold letters above the windows. Trains were commonly air conditioned after the 1930's. The L & N was called the Old Reliable because it almost always ran on time. Amtrak could learn a lesson. L & N is now part of the CSX Corporation, a major freight carrier.)
I found the steam locomotive to be simultaneously awesome and terrifying. Perhaps it was this wild combination that made it so appealing. Going south toward Pensacola, there was a slight curve in the tracks before the Molino depot. At a certain point in the approach the engine looked as if it were heading straight for me. Once, when I was four years old, I saw that, panicked, slipped from my mother's hand and fled to the back side of the depot (I did not know the train would stay on the tracks). When the train stopped and the conductor put out the little stool and shouted "'Board!" my mother could not find me. Frantic, she started calling my name and ran around the back side. She grabbed me by the hand firmly and hustled me quickly to the waiting conductor (she did not scold me, but I did not pull that stunt again). Usually, though, I just stood transfixed as the roaring black engine approached, ground trembling, with its enormous billowing cloud of dark smoke, hissing jets of white steam shooting from the sides, giant iron wheels taller than I being pushed by huge arms, and the bell on the top clanging loudly as the deafening whistle wailed. What little boy would not be impressed by this fantastic presence? It was as if the whole power of the universe were compacted into this iron monster. I and a lot of other little boys wanted nothing more than to be locomotive engineers. We were sure it was the best job in the world.
The trains during and just after the Second World War were always packed with sailors going to and from the Pensacola naval bases. My mother always called them "sailor boys." I did not know why because to me they were not boys at all. They were tall men. And, in those days they were unfailingly courteous. Mother and I never had to stand. A couple of sailors always got up and gave us their seats. I was in awe of their uniforms, which were white in summer. I always wondered how they stayed white because my clothes never seemed to stay clean for long. I loved playing in the dirt.
One day, around the year 1950, I was standing at the Molino depot waiting on the 4:15 when I did not see the tell-tale plume of dark smoke rising in the distance. In fact, I did not see or hear anything until the train was in sight rounding the bend. I was dumbfounded at the sight. There was a funny looking, snub nosed painted engine with a giant cyclops eye and a big red and yellow "L & N" beneath. It was a diesel locomotive. I had never seen one. My heart sank. I missed the fire-breathing dragon that always made my heart race.
I have grieved ever since at the disappearance of the most awesome machine on wheels ever invented, the mighty living and breathing steam locomotive. Children today just do not know what they are missing.
Even though the steam locomotive is virtually gone, I can still ride the train and close my eyes and I am back in the happy days of long ago when travel was awesome and fun and my favorite wheels took me to see the grandmother I adored and who adored me. So, if I am not working in my garden, I am longing to be on the train, to anywhere.
"Travel" by Edna St. Vincent Millay:
My heart is warm with the friends I make,
And better friends I'll not be knowing;
Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,
No matter where it's going.
(Home. A postcard of the L & N station, Pensacola, in the 1920's. This beautiful and remarkable 1912 building has been well preserved as the lobby of a new hotel.)
If you think about it, the train is a metaphor for life. We are all on the train. We are all on the journey called life moving inexorably, relentlessly through time and space. We ourselves did not choose to be on this journey, but here we are. Sometimes the journey is awesome, sometimes exhilarating, sometimes terrifying, sometimes wearying, sometimes boring, sometimes hard, sometimes disappointing, but always with the sure and certain hope of a happy and good end.
We are not alone on this journey. The train is crowded with a lot of other people, of all sorts and descriptions. Although we make choices all the time, the train itself is driven by an unseen engineer who is an expert on guiding our train on its journey. After all, this force created the train. Sometimes, some people on the train choose to stand in judgment on their fellow travelers and wrongly force them apart. When I was a child, every rail coach car I saw had a partition near the back end and every person of African ancestry had to sit behind this simply because of the color of his or her skin. I did not know then how wrong that was. I know now. Yet, there are acts of grace too. Although bone weary from days of travel, "sailor boys" invariably vied with each other to offer their seats to a woman and a little child. Then, as the engineer glided the great rolling fire-breathing beast to a gentle stop under the canopy of the beautiful station at the end of the ride, the black-coated conductor put out the little stool for each person to get off the train, safely and soundly.
We are all on the journey called life. It is how you live your life, how you make that journey that matters. We can be the segregationists or we can be the sailor boys. We can be the people who divide us up or the people who bring us together. Such are the life denying or life affirming choices we make every day for ourselves and other people on our journey. The schism has rocked our train back and forth because of the decisions that some people made and imposed on others, dividing us and turning us against each other. In the end, however, the train remains on the tracks. A force infinitely greater than ourselves is in control. Despite some riders' bad choices, the great engineer will drive this train home, into the last station, safely and soundly. You can count on it.
For blacks, DSC virtually ignored the ones who followed the schism (the only two historically black parishes in the old diocese, Calvary and St. Mark's, remained with TEC). For gays, DSC adopted a harsh, Draconian "Statement of Faith" condemning homosexuality and denying all rights to open gays. That leaves women as the present targets of DSC's reactionary moves.
Much of the thrust of the DSC leaders' efforts now is to force women into their pre-defined gender roles. Women are to be submissive to men. On the DSC website, "Ministries" breaks down into "Men's Ministries" and "Women's Ministries." Scrolling down to the bottom of Women's, we find "Biblical Womanhood: Mastering the "S" Word---Submission." Here one will see a man in authority and control, lecturing a room full of women on how to be women.
One may notice too, a very gender specific event at Christ/St. Paul's, of Yonges Island, on May 18. Find it here . This screams reactionary gender-role assignment. For men it is "Manly Men Living Authentic Lives, Let's Ger Real." The operative word here is "manly." What is manly? Look at the picture in the notice. Two men are apparently hunting, presumably shooting birds in a marsh. They are armed and carry heavy backpacks. This is the image of the macho man as aggressive, dominant, conquering provider. In the afternoon, women are to meet separately in a "Ladies Spring Fling." They are to "come dressed in 'finery' flowers, feathers, and pearls if you like." This is the image of women as nesters and caretakers. While the men are off hunting, the women are taking care of the home waiting for the conquering man to arrive.
It is clear that the DSC leaders are now engaged in a concerted campaign to force conservative gender roles on the communicants. Men are to be dominant. Women are to be submissive. In fact, this is very much a part of the counter-revolution against the democratic reforms of the late Twentieth Century, just as is the anti-abortion campaign in high gear right now. The reactionaries want women to return to their pre-1960 (when the pill appeared) status and the world of "Father Knows Best" and "Leave it to Beaver." This is not going to happen, of course, but this does not stop the leaders of DSC from trying even if their efforts are humorous and ridiculous.
One may wonder why women in the Lawrence diocese allow themselves to be treated this way. When a women is told constantly by an authority figure that she is less valuable than he is, she will eventually believe it. Her confidence will wane. Her self-concept will be worn away into emptiness. At that, there is nothing left but dependence on the dominator. In this case, religion, that should be lifting up people, is putting down a certain element, actually the majority of church members. Submission, the overt goal of DSC's "women's ministries," appears to be effective. It may be working among the present middle-aged and older women in DSC, but one cannot imagine any young woman volunteering to sign up for this blatant misogyny. This is another red flag for DSC's future.
Why do conservatives want to return women to the pre-democratic revolution days? Good question. I wrote an observation on this subject for this blog on Nov. 1, 2018. Find it here . Society's understandings of what defines masculine and feminine has changed drastically in the last sixty-odd years. Many white working class men have found this shift disorienting and threatening to their own perceived roles in society and they have lashed back against their imagined enemies. One big way in which they can make this reaction tangible is the anti-abortion crusade in which women are removed from the right to control their own bodies. Once again, men will be in control. That is the issue, men's control over women. And, that's the issue at stake now in the DSC in its gender-identity campaign.
This also helps us understand the phenomenon of Pete Buttigieg, the openly gay, and married-to-a-man, presidential candidate. Conservatives see him as a real danger. A few years ago, he would have been laughed off the stage. Not any more. It is said that President Trump is worried most about two rival candidates, Joe Biden and Pete Buttigieg. Why the worry?
The worry is not that Mayor Pete is gay, it is that he breaks all the conservative stereotypes about gays. He is a military veteran, having served in Afghanistan. He exudes a demeanor of traditional masculinity. He is assertive, outspoken, and unafraid to take on opponents. In addition to this "manliness," he is highly intelligent and educated. He is also overtly religious, a devout Episcopalian unafraid to talk about faith. He went head-to-head with VP Pence. Pence lost. Buttigieg is clearly not playing by the rules the reactionaries expect a gay man to follow. The reason they are so afraid of him is that he very effectively destroys their pre-conceived notions of what is masculine and what is feminine. Keep an eye on Pete Buttigieg. At age thirty-seven, he is a man with a future.
Meanwhile, turning from the culture war, let us walk about my garden. This is how it appeared this week. We are continuing to enjoy a beautiful springtime in the south.
On another note, I offer my best wishes for you and yours in the week to come. I have been a bit under the weather this week with a bad cold. It caused me to postpone a plan in my second favorite hobby, train travel. I had planned to ride Amtrak's Crescent to Washington DC and back. I am a "foamer." In railroad speak, a foamer is one, usually an older white man (ahem) who foams at the mouth at the sight of a train. When I was a little child, I formed a lifelong love of trains, particularly the steam locomotive. As a boy, I thought it was the most awesome and magnificent thing in the world, a great living, breathing dragon on wheels. I still think that.
My revered widowed grandmother (my mother's mother) lived in the rural village of Molino (Spanish for mill) FL twenty-five miles north of Pensacola on the Louisville and Nashville Railroad line. I adored her and she returned the love unconditionally. She was the only person I knew who never criticized me or said a harsh word to me. Fortunately, she lived a stone's throw from the L & N depot.
So, from the time I can remember, I rode back and forth often to her house on the L. & N., "the Old Reliable." In those days, the 1940's, the steam locomotive was still in common use.
I found the steam locomotive to be simultaneously awesome and terrifying. Perhaps it was this wild combination that made it so appealing. Going south toward Pensacola, there was a slight curve in the tracks before the Molino depot. At a certain point in the approach the engine looked as if it were heading straight for me. Once, when I was four years old, I saw that, panicked, slipped from my mother's hand and fled to the back side of the depot (I did not know the train would stay on the tracks). When the train stopped and the conductor put out the little stool and shouted "'Board!" my mother could not find me. Frantic, she started calling my name and ran around the back side. She grabbed me by the hand firmly and hustled me quickly to the waiting conductor (she did not scold me, but I did not pull that stunt again). Usually, though, I just stood transfixed as the roaring black engine approached, ground trembling, with its enormous billowing cloud of dark smoke, hissing jets of white steam shooting from the sides, giant iron wheels taller than I being pushed by huge arms, and the bell on the top clanging loudly as the deafening whistle wailed. What little boy would not be impressed by this fantastic presence? It was as if the whole power of the universe were compacted into this iron monster. I and a lot of other little boys wanted nothing more than to be locomotive engineers. We were sure it was the best job in the world.
The trains during and just after the Second World War were always packed with sailors going to and from the Pensacola naval bases. My mother always called them "sailor boys." I did not know why because to me they were not boys at all. They were tall men. And, in those days they were unfailingly courteous. Mother and I never had to stand. A couple of sailors always got up and gave us their seats. I was in awe of their uniforms, which were white in summer. I always wondered how they stayed white because my clothes never seemed to stay clean for long. I loved playing in the dirt.
One day, around the year 1950, I was standing at the Molino depot waiting on the 4:15 when I did not see the tell-tale plume of dark smoke rising in the distance. In fact, I did not see or hear anything until the train was in sight rounding the bend. I was dumbfounded at the sight. There was a funny looking, snub nosed painted engine with a giant cyclops eye and a big red and yellow "L & N" beneath. It was a diesel locomotive. I had never seen one. My heart sank. I missed the fire-breathing dragon that always made my heart race.
I have grieved ever since at the disappearance of the most awesome machine on wheels ever invented, the mighty living and breathing steam locomotive. Children today just do not know what they are missing.
Even though the steam locomotive is virtually gone, I can still ride the train and close my eyes and I am back in the happy days of long ago when travel was awesome and fun and my favorite wheels took me to see the grandmother I adored and who adored me. So, if I am not working in my garden, I am longing to be on the train, to anywhere.
"Travel" by Edna St. Vincent Millay:
My heart is warm with the friends I make,
And better friends I'll not be knowing;
Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,
No matter where it's going.
If you think about it, the train is a metaphor for life. We are all on the train. We are all on the journey called life moving inexorably, relentlessly through time and space. We ourselves did not choose to be on this journey, but here we are. Sometimes the journey is awesome, sometimes exhilarating, sometimes terrifying, sometimes wearying, sometimes boring, sometimes hard, sometimes disappointing, but always with the sure and certain hope of a happy and good end.
We are not alone on this journey. The train is crowded with a lot of other people, of all sorts and descriptions. Although we make choices all the time, the train itself is driven by an unseen engineer who is an expert on guiding our train on its journey. After all, this force created the train. Sometimes, some people on the train choose to stand in judgment on their fellow travelers and wrongly force them apart. When I was a child, every rail coach car I saw had a partition near the back end and every person of African ancestry had to sit behind this simply because of the color of his or her skin. I did not know then how wrong that was. I know now. Yet, there are acts of grace too. Although bone weary from days of travel, "sailor boys" invariably vied with each other to offer their seats to a woman and a little child. Then, as the engineer glided the great rolling fire-breathing beast to a gentle stop under the canopy of the beautiful station at the end of the ride, the black-coated conductor put out the little stool for each person to get off the train, safely and soundly.
We are all on the journey called life. It is how you live your life, how you make that journey that matters. We can be the segregationists or we can be the sailor boys. We can be the people who divide us up or the people who bring us together. Such are the life denying or life affirming choices we make every day for ourselves and other people on our journey. The schism has rocked our train back and forth because of the decisions that some people made and imposed on others, dividing us and turning us against each other. In the end, however, the train remains on the tracks. A force infinitely greater than ourselves is in control. Despite some riders' bad choices, the great engineer will drive this train home, into the last station, safely and soundly. You can count on it.
