Are You Guys Brothers?

     On the Monday of Memorial Day weekend, Ray and I hosted a wonderful hot dog cookout for forty members of our family. Though they were all our brothers and our sisters, none of them were our relatives.

     Our friend Johnnetta Cole was the first person in our lives to call us “brother Brian,” and “brother Ray.” This dear, courageous, and dedicated founder of the Global Diversity and Inclusion Institute at Bennett College for Women refers to all men as her “brother” and to all women as her “sister.” When we first heard it associated with our names, the term “brother” immediately created a sense of intimacy with Johnnetta for Ray and me. It has subsequently come to remind us of our shared humanity with all human beings in the world. I’ve learned, for instance, to secretly name the mentally ill, homeless man I pass on the street and the disagreeable checkout person I encounter in the grocery store as members of my family. He is my brother. She is my sister. When I do this while reading reports on victims of natural and man-made disasters across the globe, it makes the loss far more personal to me.

     On our morning walk the other day, Ray and I speculated that people who closely identify with their biological family might find it harder to see all people in their lives and in the world as their brothers and their sisters. Tightly-knit clans might be more inclined to consistently circle the wagons and to see themselves as a unit that is quite separate from all others. An example of this would be the Walker family in the television program Brothers and Sisters. Though we tape every episode of the popular series out of affection for the stars, we generally find ourselves yelling at their characters for consistently choosing to be loyal to their codependent mother and siblings at the cost of their spouses and their own personal health. It is a highly-dysfunctional group of adult men and women whose destinies seem determined more by their bloodline than by their need for personal growth and fulfillment.

     In our own lives, Ray and I each find ourselves consciously making choices to stop romanticizing the concept of “family” and to avoid the dysfunction that can result from investing oneself in family dramas. Yet, he and I both speculated on the same morning walk that as most people age, their blood relatives, like their childhood religious beliefs, seem to take on renewed interest and increased importance. We’ve seen this happen over and over again with friends and relatives. One male friend in his seventies who has always been estranged from his family and his home state is moving back there to be close to his relatives. Other friends, who we admired at one time in their lives for their freedom from compliance to religious doctrine and rituals, have returned to the security of those doctrines and rituals in their senior years.

     What prompts such retreat from experience-based wisdom? We think it is the fear of being alone, of being unloved, and of living an insignificant life that will be judged as meaningless, or worse, be forgotten.

     Does embracing as “brother” and “sister” the unrelated men and women in our lives protect us from those feelings of insecurity? No, on the contrary, we know that our friends will change over the years – that the forty people at this year’s Memorial Day picnic will all move on in their lives, many of them one day seeking solace with their biological families. Ray and I accept that we are alone, that love is conditional, that our lives are ultimately insignificant, and that we will most assuredly be forgotten. We realize that our brothers and sisters of choice are no less dysfunctional than the Walker family on television or the McNaught and Struble clans. But we do our best to hold them loosely, to avoid involving ourselves in their dramas, and to love them without too much expectation.

     One might think that calling all men “brother” and all women “sister” is romanticizing reality, and that it’s simply a means of avoiding the inevitability of our solitary lives, but I would disagree. Seeing all people as family is what every spiritual mentor since the beginning of recorded history has urged us to do. St. Francis of Assisi went so far as to refer to all expressions of life as “brother” and “sister.” Ray and I have found that doing so is very freeing and that it brings great meaning to our lives.

     Starting next week, and for the next three months, I’ll be spending most of my time with brother sea and sister garden. If during that time I have an insight that I feel the need to immediately share with others, I’ll write it down and send it out. Otherwise, my plan is to give sister brain and brother body a good rest.     

LOLFunny687 has made a comment on A gay man and a fundamentalist Christian were on a plane….

Homosexuality is a sin, just as any other sin, we are all sinners, which is why we need Jesus to save us from our wicked ways. homosexuality, drunkeness [sic], lust, murder, coveteousness [sic], greed, list goes on and on they are all sins and we must not partake in it

This comment requires your approval. You can approve or reject it by visiting the comments

page.

     Hmm.  I didn’t really “approve” of the message Laugh Out Loud (LOL) Funny left on YouTube for me after watching a five-minute segment of my two-hour corporate presentation, but I felt that he or she had the right to participate in a dialogue about religion and homosexuality, and perhaps I might have a positive influence on his or her thinking. You never know. It’s happened lots of times in the past. So, I responded by saying, “You are citing a mistranslation of the Bible, a book that has relevance only to those who accept it as the literal word of God. I don’t. I wish happiness to those who do and hope they wish the same to me.”

     LOLFunny responded immediately by saying,

    actually, I am not “citing a mistranslation of the Bible”. have you ever read your Bible? Do you consider yourself a Christian? Do you believe Jesus is your saviour?

     Now, there are really a ton more verses confirming this in the Bible. I suggest you check out a good site detailing this. I would post the link but I cant, so I’ll tell you how to get to it by googling it:

God bless.

     Were we building a dialogue? He or she seemed nice enough. They wished me peace and the blessings of God. So, I responded, “Thank you — as I do you.”

     Regrettably, it didn’t end there. LOLFunny apparently had the same goal of conversion as I had with him or her. He or she next wrote:

From what I can see, you are spending your life trying to gain acceptance from humans rather than acceptance from God. God tells us what happens to those who sell themselves to the devil and seek unholiness rather than righteousness.

Let me give you some scripture to show what God thinks about this sin called homosexuality.

I am going to list New Testament only since you probably are so blind you think that Old Testament has no meaning. I’ll give the summary of what the scriptures say since there are a lot with long passages talking about this.

Romans1:26-32 God adresses [sic] sinners including those who partake in homosexuality and he says he blinds them that are not repentant and have pleasure in it…

Paul states that none who continue to commit the sins listed above “shall inherit the kingdom of God.” These sins need to be repented of and put in the past. And that is what the chosen Few in these Gentiles churches were doing.

     It seemed to me that he or she was getting a little testy and my inclination was to back away, but I thought maybe I could clear up a misunderstanding about the use of the word “homosexual” in the Bible, so I wrote, “The word homosexuality was never used in the Old or New Testament. The term was created in 1869 in Germany and pre-dates the term heterosexuality. I hope that one day Christians who quote the Bible to condemn the behavior of others will come to realize that they give Christ a bad name.”

     I know. I know. That last line was probably unnecessary, but I’ve got feelings too and I get more than a little tired listening to people who think they speak for God using the Bible to justify their biases and to try to force the rest of us to think poorly of ourselves. I just can’t imagine Jesus doing so.

     So, of course, he or she wrote back, but I didn’t publish anything further that they had to say. I felt it was too much for gay visitors to the YouTube site to have to bear, and I’m only allowed 36 comments from viewers and from myself. Then I need to edit. But the person who began his or her correspondence with a “peace be to you,” and a “God bless,” didn’t give up and decided to take a different tack. He or she most recently wrote:

Read 1 Corinthians 6:9-10 and think to yourself if what you are doing is right or wrong in God’s eyes.

You are disgustingly blind and perverted trying to make God look like a liar. You can twist scripture all you want. you could make “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.” to be anything in your imagination you want it to be. homosexuality is a sin, and you trying to make it right is also a sin. you are calling God a liar.

     Sometimes you have to walk away, which I now have from this person. Ray wants to know why I even bother to engage them in dialogue. “They’re nuts,” he says.

     Some of them are nuts, I suppose, just as there are gay people who are crazy and whose behavior scares me. But I have had far more successes than failures in life in my attempt to establish dialogue with people whose religious perspectives are different from my own. The fundamentalist Christian man on the plane to whom I referred in the video clip that so upset LOLFunny is a wonderful example. When we finished our conversation, he said, as many of you know, “Brian, as sure as I’m sitting in this seat, I know that God had you sit next to me, and I will never think about homosexuality in the same way again.” Now, that was worth the effort.

     As the song says, you’ve got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, and know when to run.    

     A paean is a song of joyful exultation or praise. It’s pronounced like the last two syllables of the word “European.” When a friend used the word “paean” in a recent e-mail to describe my latest book, I had to look it up to see if I was being complimented or criticized. I decided it was a compliment.

     A few days ago, as Ray and I were sitting side by side at the dining table, looking out at Provincetown Harbor, and enjoying a lunch of fresh fruit and low fat cottage cheese, I imagined the gaunt faces and emaciated bodies of starving children sitting in the empty seats around my table. I also imagined each child watching me as I lifted a piece of fruit from my plate to my mouth. I didn’t imagine them hating or resenting me for eating the fruit, only wishing that they could do so too.

     I’m deeply troubled by the horrors of world hunger, so when I’m enjoying the sweetness of a grape or a slice of pear, I feel the need to remind myself that there are millions of children and adults in the world who at that moment would give anything for the temporary pleasure and comfort of eating a small piece of fresh fruit instead of garbage, bugs, or dirt. You may feel that I’m ruining my meal with these mental images, but on the contrary, I find that in reminding myself of what I have, compared to the lives of others, I enhance my meal by accepting the obligation to “be in the moment,” to be thankful, and to savor each precious bite rather than eat quickly while I think about mowing the lawn.  Not to give thanks and enjoy the moment when I’m aware that there are other beings like me who are starving is the epitome of callous indifference.

     My reason for writing here about my awareness of the unfairness of privilege is that I want to pen a paean to spring but in the context of good fortune. I love my life. I love sharing my joy about it with others. It makes me very happy when something I say prompts someone else to think about the joy of his or her life so that they too are moved to write, speak or sing a paean. But I know that not everyone can create a song of joyful exaltation and praise about his or her life. I also know that hunger is not the only obstacle to celebration.

    That being said, spring, especially as I experience it in this small fishing village at the tip of Cape Cod, can feed my soul like no other time of the year. How can my heart not sing when it witnesses the budding of trees in the brilliant, fresh green color that can be seen only at this time of year? How can I not be deeply moved by the sight of life-forms poking their tiny heads through the soil and daily emerging into manifestations of magnificence? Like the whales that we know will return each year to Cape Cod Bay to feed and raise their calves, perennial plants keep coming back to life year after year with an eagerness to live fully. On our long walk through the sand dunes this morning, Ray reminded me that gardening is an important form of my meditation. Creating a palette of living color – this year it is in pinks, purples, and white – is as satisfying to me as writing a good book, speaking effectively to an audience, or decorating a room. 

     Each day for us is an opportunity to experience an extraordinary beauty in nature and to feel a thrill in our lives. The thrill can be as simple as deeply inhaling the incomparable scent of lilac, or as dramatic as taking the boat out and having it be surrounded by scores of dolphins, some leading us, some following, and others seemingly just showing off. A short while later, on the same outing last week, we came within fifty yards of the largest whale in the world, surfacing and diving in its search for food. Besides the Finback, we also saw a Humpback mother whale and its calf and two small Minky whales. How can I not sing a song of joyful exaltation to myself and to our friends after such an experience?

     I give the wrong impression if it appears I think that hungry people can’t express or feel paeans in their hearts. Just as people with everything in life can be incapable of feeling joy or gratitude, it must also be true that the impoverished families throughout the world are fully capable of being grateful for the good experiences of their lives. It’s just that I’m aware that I have a better chance of having a longer list of blessings than they might.

     Once again, this doesn’t stop me from feeling giddy when my attention falls on a manifestation of goodness in my life, or from creating a song of joyful exultation. What it does mean is that I don’t take my life for granted, and besides inviting images of the less fortunate to my table, Ray and I also feel grateful to be able to financially support the efforts of groups such as Doctors Without Borders and the Heifer Foundation. They’re helping others in the world create lives that feel more fully blessed and worthy of song.

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D - My Name is Diversity

     When I was a youngster living in Flint, Michigan, I was very good at jump rope. I was also good at hopscotch, and jacks, but that’s another story. When we played jump rope, my girl friends and I would keep rhythm for ourselves by singing through the alphabet. I would sing, “A - my name is Alan and my wife’s name is Alice. We come from Alabama with a carload of apples. B - my name is Brian and my wife’s name is Betty. We come from Buffalo with a carload of bananas. C - my name….” You get the picture.

     (To finish reading this offering, please go to http://glbtatwork.blog.com or www.brian-mcnaught.com)

     A beautiful bluebird was perched on a limb of our Tamarisk tree the morning of our thirty-third anniversary. Ray and I were both thrilled because Ray had never seen a bluebird and I hadn’t since I was a child. We experienced it as a very special gift from the plump little bird to us on our special day – a much-welcomed and appreciated guest for the briefest moment in our lives.

     More and more, it is apparent to Ray and to me that all things and experiences in our lives are guests and gifts to be welcomed and appreciated. The humpback whale and its calf that make an occasional appearance in the harbor, the yellow finches at the bird feeder and the robin in the bird bath, the trillium that returns to the garden briefly each spring, the red Bartlett pear that is enjoyed at breakfast, the green leather arm chairs in which we read the newspaper, the sand dunes that frame our morning walk, the house to which we return eagerly because it is filled with treasured objects that remind us that we are safe in familiar surroundings, the friends who come over for dinner and cards, the television programs we watch with joy, the good novels we read on our Kindles in bed, and the kiss we share before turning out the lights are all gifts that are temporarily ours to enjoy and to care for, but not to think of as our own. They are all guests which will leave us one day and visit others with the hope of being appreciated.

     We are caretakers of the bluebird, the finch, and the robin. We plant trees in which they might perch, fill the feeders so that they might eat, and refresh the water in the birdbath daily so that they might drink and preen, but we don’t own the birds, and someday, after we’re gone, someone else will trim the trees, fill the feeder, and change the water in the birdbath for them.

     We have purchased our home, renovated it, decorated it, and insured it, but there have been many occupants of the house since it was built in 1850 and there will be many after us who will have the opportunity to enjoy and appreciate it. All of us are caretakers, temporarily responsible for the structure, the artwork, the antiques, and the furniture which may or may not stay together as a unit. For us to think of an oil painting as “ours” is as foolish as us thinking of the bluebird as ours. It’s a guest to be welcomed and appreciated – a gift of this life to be handled with care.

     Though we have been together as a couple for thirty-three years, I don’t own Ray nor does he own me, anymore than we own our friends, or parents own their children. We are gifts to each other to be appreciated. Before we came together as partners, we each had previous lovers, roommates, and friends. Before that, we lived with our parents. Before that, it’s anyone’s guess where we were, if we were. The same is true after we die. Neither of us believes in a tangible afterlife but if there is one, we don’t imagine ourselves roaming eternity together. This union is temporary. We are guests in each other’s lives, like the bluebird.

     Given this understanding, it shocks us both to read of mothers drowning their children, fathers shooting their families, husbands beating their wives, and parents molesting their offspring, as if they owned the other and had full rights to do whatever they wished with them. People who beat their pets must think similarly – “I own you. I’ll damn well do with you what I please.” We may have a bill of sale, just as plantation owners did for the human beings they bought as slaves, but the truth is, the pets and the slaves are really extraordinarily abused guests.

     There’s a local, moneyed, married couple that has the reputation for being great champions of social justice. They rightfully want us all to vigorously protect the lives of other human beings. Yet, they live in one of the most beautiful old Victorian homes in town that is also the one most in need of paint and attention. Their message, I feel, is undermined by the lack of concern they show for the great, old house in which they live. They are poor custodians.

     Environmentalism is a movement that seeks to remind us that we are expected to be good caretakers of the earth on which we have temporary residence. Everything we do to the earth has a consequence. When we plant a tree, turn off the water while shaving or brushing our teeth, throw our litter into a trash can rather than on the ground, recycle our newspapers, bottles and cans, we are showing gratitude for the gift of the space that we are using for the short time we have physical form. When we treat the earth with disdain, as if we owned it, we’re like the person who abuses his or her spouse or who fires a shot at the bluebird perched on the Tamarisk tree.

     Sometimes it takes us a long while to see beyond ourselves and to find our place in the great scheme of things. It is easy to be fearful of insignificance and to want to dominate everything around us. Maybe we need to go through the stage in which we destroy in order to be shamed into awareness of our communion with all things which simply seek to feel safe and valued. One of the gifts of age – another guest to be welcomed – is the joy that comes with understanding that all of life is ours to enjoy as long as we take good care of it.